


The Grey Area

by zannielux



Category: Dramione - Fandom, Harry Poter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:37:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannielux/pseuds/zannielux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning of their eighth year back at Hogwarts, Draco seeks Hermione out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The entire train seemed to hold its breath the second before Hogwarts came into view. 

Carriage fourteen was no different. Hermione, Ginny, Rory, and Dean made an unheard symphony of beating hearts. The four returning students were well used to the sight, but not the new feelings that came with it this time around. They were used to hearts pummeling from excitement rather than nervousness, and hands sweating from anticipation rather than a sick nausea. No one had to say anything as the train parked and they all gathered their things to disembark. They were in perfect understanding. They had all lived through last year, after all.

Lord Voldermort lay dead, but the memories he left behind lived in his place. And what horrific memories they were. Hogwarts only highlighted them further. One didn't have to travel far to start associating where battle took place...where so many lay dead...

Hermione felt Ginny's hand reach hers and give it a squeeze. That made her braver, and she walked to the boats the only way she knew how: with her head up. 

Still, no one said anything. The ride was almost silent. Even the first years kept their excited talk at a whisper. Illuminated by lanterns, Hogwarts came into view for the second time towards the end of the ride with a sharp pang to Hermione's heart.

The students kept in a long united stream all the way to the castle and to the Great Hall, where everyone save the first years took their designated seats in orderly and polite silence. The Slytherin table was less than half filled, but other than that, the Great Hall was nearly full, although you wouldn't guess it from the amount of noise currently emitting from it.

Professor McGonnagal came to the front podium and if it were possible, the student body digressed further into silence. She gave a passionate and inspirational speech that Hermione teared up at, along with much of the student body. It felt warm and empty all at the same time, hopeful and unsure. It felt like coming back from a war because it was coming back from a war. But more than anything else, it felt like it had always felt. It felt like home. 

xxx

 

Time fixes everything.

While this was not always true, Hermione thought that it it applied to her belated seventh year at Hogwarts rather well. Weeks went by, days got colder, and things seemed to be falling more into the slot of normal. As normal as they could be, anyways. But Hermione took the liberties of small comforts. Good friends and passionate professors and the blissful routine. Hermione was a creature of habit, and she craved routine. A craving that day by day was finally getting satisfied and giving her life a sense of meaning and stability.

Stability. That was another thing she craved. Hermione thought she could have been happy if for the rest of her life not one remarkable thing was to ever happen again.

On their third Tuesday back, a commotion stirred up the Great Hall. Nearly every head turned towards the entrance, and Hermione's being stuck in a book was one of the last to swivel towards the large double doors. Draco Malfoy was the source of the commotion, and just as with many dramatic silences at Hogwarts, the dramatic whispers immediately followed as he made his way towards the scarce Slytherin table.

Ginny was not scared to join in the conversation by not being the first to mutter, “What is he doing here?”

“Oh sure, Ginny,” Dean Thomas quipped from her left, “let us answer that with our vast insight to the inner workings of Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione, along with the rest, watched Malfoy with anything but his infamous saunter walk to his old seat. He looked worse than last year, worse than sixth year even, if that were possible. Paler than usual with disheveled hair and his grey sweater doing nothing to help his complexion. She watched Malfoy pat Theodore Nott on the shoulder, and watched Blaise Zabini make what seemed to be an ill timed joke due to the pathetic attempt of a smile he got from Draco. 

“I bet he was forced,” Ginny was saying. “He looks like he got headbutted by a Griffin.”

“I've actually seen that happen but this is still worse.” Dean promised.

“He's still kinda hot,” A friend of Ginny's called Rory chimed in, getting hard stares from everyone for her comment . “What? Just because he's the spawn of Satan doesn't mean I don't have eyes.”

“And if you had half a brain you would realize who you're talking about,” Dean retorted.

“Anyways,” Rory said, changing the subject. “Who would force him to come back? And why?”

“Again, how is anyone other than Malfoy and his closest Slytherins going to know that?” Dean interjected. “This gossip is utterly pointless. Why must we waste our time with that son of a...well, you all know.”

Hermione quite agreed. 

“That's, like, the point of gossip.” Rory pointed out. “Life would get boring without the speculation and mystic, don't you think?”

Dean didn't look convinced. “All I know is that talk of Malfoy leaves me with a not so good taste in my mouth, and I would much rather enjoy my breakfast talking about--”

“--Quidditch?” Rory asked, rolling her eyes. “Malfoy certainly isn't my favorite topic but it is variety from you and Ginny constantly blabbering on about your next power play.”

“Hey!” Ginny exclaimed. “Power plays need a lot of discussion, okay? By the way Dean, I had this new idea...”

And she was off. Hermione cast a glance at Rory, the latter wearing a petulant expression of a child getting exactly the opposite of what she had asked for. Hermione smiled and shook her head, going back to reading about Potions from Africa. 

Things for the rest of the day passed with no further excitement extract a few over heard whispers about Malfoys return. Towards the end of the day, Hermione was getting sick of the theories and even though she knew the talk would die down by tomorrow, she wanted to escape it tonight. Slipping out of the Gryffindor common room, she sought a place of solace. 

The library was the first choice, but even that was filled with more whispering than homework, so she took her bag filled with books and parchment and quills outside and found a nice area of green grass and a tree to sit by. With a lumos spell to illuminate the tip of her wand, she read by the tree and enjoyed herself immensely...She really should come out here more often. The early fall temperature was just right, a pleasant breeze blowing up the ankles of her robes and tickling wisps of hair against her neck.

A sudden splash to her left let her know she was not alone. It wasn't loud, and it was followed by a couple more similar sized splashes into the lake near which she was positioned by. Shifting her book to the side, she leaned to peek around the tree that served her cover. A figure she immediately identified by the blonde-white hair was pacing by the lake, throwing in rocks every now and then. 

Malfoy was not skipping stones, no, he was full force hurling them as far as he could into the water. Which was far, Hermione noted, watching him with unease. She had no further plans for reading or staying here any longer than necessary. As quietly as she could, she began to pack things up. Not quietly enough, apparently, because Draco was suddenly very near her tree. She could hear as a leaf crunched under his foot.

“Who's there?” he asked, squinting through the darkness her extinguished lumos left behind. She stood up carefully, back flat against the tree. She hoped he would think it was just a stray squirrel or a gust of wind. She really didn't want to deal with him tonight. She didn't want to deal with him ever.

“I saw a light.” he said, coming closer and making Hermione silently curse herself. “Expelliarmus!”

Hermione gasped as her wand went zooming to him. She had not expected him to come up so quickly and perform a spell so surely. She hadn't even known his wand was out.

She revealed herself immediately, flushed with annoyance and embarrassment at being found out. She didn't want him to think she was hiding like some coward from him. 

“Oh.” Hermione couldn't read his expression as he said that. It was too dark. “It's you.”

It was perhaps the nicest thing he had ever said to her.

No, it was definitely the nicest thing he had ever said to her.

Hermione had no idea what to say to that. Until the weirdness of the situation lifted and she remembered. “Give me my wand back.”

To her utter surprise, he didn't object. To her utter dismay, he had to approach her to hand the object over. She grabbed it quickly and stuffed it in her bag, turning around without a thank you.

“Hermione.” 

Hermione was shocked at the use of her first name, and maybe that's what made her halt. Or maybe it was the tone in which he said it. A hoarse whisper that seemed physically painful for him to get out. Still, this felt like a trick. Anything concerning Malfoy felt void of all sincerity or good will. She didn't trust him enough to turn around. She wanted to grab her wand from her purse, but refrained from doing so. Again, she hated to look like a coward.

“I was going to find you later, but I suppose we could get this over with now.”

Finally, she twisted her frame to face his. She searched through the darkness to find answers in his expression. His face for her was only connected to ill intentions and ugly memories. “Why were you going to find me?”

“Because it's important.” He was growing frustrated already, she could tell. “I want to...I want to help you.” The last part was especially hard for him to get out judging by the strain in his vocal chords.

“Help me?” Hermione nearly snorted at the notion. 

“Am I not worthy of providing help?” He asked, heated, and before she could interject—continued on hurriedly. “I came back for a very specific reason. This reason, actually. So please, at least give me the benefit of the doubt. I know things feel like they're settling down but just because Voldemort is dead doesn't mean that his ideas went with him. He had a lot of supporters. Supporters that gave up their entire lives to practice what he preached.”

“Like your father?” Hermione was shocked at her own cruel tongue. She didn't like where this was going, and realized that her subconscious was doing a very messy job of trying to switch the direction.

“Yes.” Draco answered all too calmly. “Like my father.” 

Hermione glanced back at the castle only some feet away. She earned to be inside its warm walls instead of out here.

“These men, they have nothing now.” Draco continued. “Do you know how men that having nothing behave, Granger?”

Hermione didn't have time to answer.

“Without thought. Without morals or feeling or fear. Now with Voldemort gone, they have nothing. In other words, they have nothing to lose.”

Hermione was starting to feel sick, and she grabbed on to a tree for support. She didn't want to believe what he was saying because he was Malfoy. She didn't understand why he was telling her this because he was Malfoy. He was Malfoy, and what was she doing here with him exchanging secrets? 

“Why are you telling me this?” She asked bitterly.

“You have to tell your...friends. You know, the whole lot or whatever. You have to tell them to lock their houses as tight as before and you have to tell them to be on guard and trust few.”

“Stop it.” She said suddenly, surprised at the anger in her own voice. “Stop it. All of these...people. They can't hurt us anymore. They've...gone away.” She finished lamely.

“No they haven't. And they won't. Not until the very last one is dead can anyone feel safe. Especially the likes of Potter and Weasely, who they'll be targeting first of course.”

Of course, Hermione thought, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. Who else besides them? It was always them. Her head was pounding.

“Liar.” She whispered. “You're a liar.”

Malfoy now looked more frustrated than ever. “I'm trying to help you here,” he spat with malice. “Do you understand the notion?”

“Not from you.” She was still whispering although she couldn't pinpoint exactly as to why. “Why would you want to help me?”

“I'm trying to take a different path this time.” He said carefully. “See some different scenery.”

She couldn't believe it. For the such an intelligent witch, she could hardly comprehend it. Not even a small part of it. Nothing was within reach of her grasp of competence. 

“I don't care much for you, Granger. Let's not get sentimental. I'm not about to spill my soulful reasoning and I dare say you should be lucky to not have to hear it. You can believe me or not, I don't care. I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for me.”

“How is this for you?” With every explanation he tried to give her, she was only left more confused. 

“Because I'm trying to do the right thing.”

Hermione studied him. She didn't think Malfoy cared about right or wrong, only what was best for him...She couldn't help but think of the age old question: can people really change?

Hermione didn't want to be dramatic. She did believe people could change.

But this was too black and white.

Draco was going to walk away soon, she could sense it. This conversation was two beats from over. She forced herself to step closer. “This time, Malfoy?” Hermione leveled a good look at him. Grey eyes matched hers in coldness. “Is that what you said, this time? What else do you know?”

He remained quiet. Hermione was inches away from him. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Strange, she would have sooner guessed he was made of marble.“Do share, Malfoy. If you want to walk the right path, don't stray too far now.”

Hermione looked hungrily into his eyes, searching them for a lie or...guilt? No, of course not. Nothing. She wished she could smell fear like a dog. Not being able to, she backed off. Slightly. She didn't want him running off too fast now that she was the one doing the talking.

“What else do you know?” She repeated, louder. “You'll have to tell now. You'll have to spill it all. Everything. Or would you rather tell McGonagall?”

At this, he twitched a smile that shot a shiver down Hermiones stomach. 

“There's nothing she doesn't already know,” Draco assured Hermione, who at this, scrunched her eyebrows together. 

He's bluffing...isn't he? 

“Go on. Check if you want to,” his tone was lighthearted as he motioned towards the castle.

Hermione bit her cheek and turned around to stalk off without another word. What else was there to be said? She didn't want to talk anymore with him anyways. The only thing she wanted to do with Malfoy were activities that would involve pain. She didn't look back. It would have been pointless too, surely Malfoy had left the second she had. He certainly wouldn't loiter for her.

Except he had, and was now watching her walk—no, stomp towards the castle--with a peculiar look paining his features. 

xxx

The next day, Hermione woke with a start, feeling unsafe and dirty. After she had left Malfoy last night standing in the field, she had gone straight to the Headmistress to have this conversation:

“I don't mean to stress you out, Headmistress.” Hermione said quickly. “But I didn't know what to do. I mean, I knew that I had to come to you, but I can't be expected to live like this, can I? With him around every corner.”

“Hermione.” McGonagall walked over to her side of the desk and with sat down heavily. “Mr. Malfoy is going through a hard time.”

“A hard time?” She tried desperately to keep her voice even and low. “He's having a hard time? What about us? Isn't there anywhere else he can go?” She knew she was sounding whiny now, but she couldn't stop herself. “Why here?”

“He is finishing his seventh year here with the rest of you.” McGonagall said. “This is his school too.”

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. How could McGonagall be defending him? 

“With all due respect, I don't understand. He's done nothing but turmoil this school.” She shot a lingering look at Dumbledores portrait. McGonagall understood.

“Hermione, I'm asking you to respect me and my wishes.” Mcgonagall said, with growing distress. “Draco stays.”

“But why?” Hermione erupted. She hated how she sounded. Like a bratty child. She had to stop herself from crossing her arms and completing the uncanny resemblance. 

“Those reasons are to be kept between me and Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to respect that too.”

Hermione didn't think she had that much respect for Malfoy in her, if any at all.

“Why did he say those things about my friends? Can I at least know that? Are they true? Are the Death Eaters coming back?” 

“For them to come back, it would have to mean that they left.” McGonagall was anything but warm. “The Death Eaters never left, Hermione. They're still here, and they're still plotting. Fewer in numbers but not less determined in revenge. Draco is an asset, we should be very grateful to have him here. He has information that will help us put a peaceful end to all of this.”

A peaceful end? Hermione was never going to be so naive to believe in something like that ever again. Instead, she focused on what was easier to grasp at this point. A place where she could focus all of her unresolved murderous anger. Malfoy. “Grateful to have him here? After everything he's done?”

She knew she was pushing the limits of conversation with McGonnogal, and McGonnogal knew it too. “That will be enough, Hermione. I will not have you question my decisions like this. Please go back to your dormitory, and please,” she cast one last stern look, “stay away from Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione left the office more exasperated than she had entered it. It was late now too, and she realized with a groan of frustration how tired she was going to be in class tomorrow. Furthermore, how confused and spiteful she was going to be after tonight. Jogging up the stairs, she went straight to the shower. There, she exhausted herself with thoughts and scolded her skin red and raw. The water couldn't be hot enough. The thoughts wouldn't slow down. Her fingers trembled with the shampoo bottle.

How could she think things would end so resolutely and without question in June? Hadn''t she studied history? Did any previous war end with everyone merrily uniting in a world clean of discrimination? Was anything ever that easy? No. Then why had she thought it would be?

Because she thought she deserved it. Through her life of dark secrets and dark magic she was selfish enough to think that she deserved peace. And now this...With further pain she thought of everyone else. Harry, the Weasely's, and the rest of Hogwarts. Maybe she deserved this, but those were the people that didn't. Hadn't Harry survived enough?

No. Malfoy was overreacting and making her overreact in turn. Over-exaggerating. He wanted to see her suffer, that was it. He was making it up for fun. And even if he wasn't...This was nothing like it was for the last seven years. But McGonagall believed him. And that said it all.

Still, Voldemort, powerful as he was, was gone for good. And that gave Hermione a small comfort, but nonetheless a comfort as she finally let sleep take her later that night. And it was a comfort enough for her to go down to breakfast, and class and lunch and then class again the next day, and to laugh at Ginny's and Rory's banter at the right moments. To act normal. 

She didn't want to make any rash decisions. She didn't want to panic anyone without reason. What she wanted was to talk to Malfoy. He hadn't expected her to eat it all up, had he?

Hermione was going mad. She was going to try to find him by the lake again tonight...If she couldn't, she didn't know what she would do. The thought of approaching him in public didn't excite her in the least. If it came to that people would do what people did best. They would ask questions. 

Hermione excused herself from dinner early when she didn't see Malfoy in the Great Hall, thinking maybe he had gone out already. She wasn't sure if his rock throwing was an isolated incident or if he would be here again tonight, but she had to try.

She walked the perimeter of the lake when she didn't initially see him. That took longer than she had expected, and proved pointless as she did not find him.. Flushed from exertion, she collapsed near her tree, and extracted from her bag reading material. Fanning herself with a hand, she read. 

And read.

And read.

Still, no Malfoy. Her impatience turned to annoyance and soon to anger. He was making her wait around like this! This was stupid and pointless and people could ask questions if they wanted to. She was not about to sacrifice her time for someone else, let alone him, and regretting making this decision in the first place, made her way grumpily back to the castle.

On the way there, she saw the familiar shape approaching. They met each other almost at the same spot as they stood at yesterday. Draco looked even more disheveled than last night, as if he had just taken a nap. This made Hermione feel unbalanced, as if she were in a different universe. An alternative universe where Draco Malfoy warned her of danger, betrayed his family, and took no pride in his appearance.

“I just wanted to know,” Hermione went straight into it. “If danger is so prominent, then why haven't I been warned of it sooner? Why haven't I read it in the Daily Prophet? Why had McGonagall kept quite?”

“So you talked to her, I assume?” Hermione wanted to punch his proud little expression off. “And Because Death Eaters don't go around gushing their plans to journalists. And because McGonagall is smart. She doesn't fully trust me either. Not yet, anyways. She doesn't want to give anyone a scare until she's sure.”

Hermione felt a small amount of self satisfaction at having thought the same way as her favorite professor.

Still, she continued. “What about the ministry? Why aren't they doing anything? They should be more than capable about sorting who was on who's side.” 

“You do remember who's side I was on, don't you? And look at me. Free. At Hogwarts. With the rest of you.” Draco shook his head. “They're too easy. Anyone except for the real big ones can usually make do with one tear filled, regret filled, confession and promise for retribution. And those are the ones who get caught. Most are so underground not even magic can track them. Not ministry magic anyway.”

“Then why don't you tell the ministry? If you know so much?” She couldn't keep the growing spite out of her voice.

“I don't have a death wish.”

“I thought you wanted to be noble?” Hermione countered. “Self sacrifice should accomplish that quite nicely.”

Malfoy was turning around to walk away.

“Why me?” Hermione hissed, heavy with burden, following.“Why did you have to tell me?” 

“Well, if it means anything. I really wish I hadn't.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I thought you'd like to know!” He finally exploded at the girl, swinging himself around to her. “You know not everything in life fits into a nice little box like you think it does. Sometimes people do things and there’s not much to it. There's no fucking reason to complicate it or make it something it's not!”

“How can I make it something it's not when I don't even know what it is?” Hermione snapped back. 

“I told you.” He fought to keep his voice level. “I'm trying to do the right thing.”

“Since when?” Hermione couldn't help but shout. “When have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?”

Draco shoved past her without answer. Hermione didn't understand why she was so furious...she just was. She didn't want to go back up to her room. She wanted to share the fury. To let it weight down the culprit. She followed him.

“You should leave. You don't deserve to be here and everywhere you go you just make people miserable.” Hermione didn't know what had gotten into her. She was not usually one for confrontation. She usually believed that the likes of Malfoy didn't even deserve her fury. She just couldn't stop herself.

But she did. Because he had stopped. She waited for his next move, looking at how tense his back looked from her impact. Good, she thought with malice. The war had changed her, she realized. Looking all of that death in the face made her want nothing more than to kill who had put it there. She wanted someone to pay for the suffering. Someone had to pay, didn't they?

Malfoy was the closest outlet for that at the moment.

“What are you doing here? Helping me? Betraying Mummy and--”

He was on her so fast she hadn't the chance to finish her sentence. His wand was straining hard under her chin, at the very top of her throat. She noticed his whole body slightly trembling. Her mouth had suddenly gone very dry. She had seen Malfoy angry before, but never like this. He looked like he could kill, and she was afraid for a second that he just might. 

“Get out of my line of sight.” Malfoy growled. “Or I'll kill you.”

Hermione's eyes widened considerably. “No you won't.” she whispered.

The wand pressed harder against the top of her neck and he leaned in close. “Do you remember those men I told you about? Well I have something in common with all of them. Nothing. To. Lose.”

Hermione stood her ground. 

“Kill me.” She said. “I dare you.”

She was sent flying back thirty or so feet as Malfoy turned his wand on her, only to be stopped with rough contact from a pine tree. Different types of sudden pain shot through her legs, her side, and her head as she lay crumpled on the terrain. She reached for her wand, and Malfoy angled his for what she recognized as an Expelliarmus. She made the point to be quicker, shooting a Stupefy at him and rolling out of the way of his own when he realized what she was doing.

His missed.

Hers hit.

Malfoy went unconscious, his legs giving way beneath his collapsing body.


	2. Chapter 2

3 WEEKS AGO

The room was dark.

Draco found this fact wildly impractical and laughably melodramatic. Why must the room always be dark at these meetings? Sure, the aesthetic was effective but weren't the dark wood flooring, high backed chairs, and tall pillars with peeling paint enough? There was no one concrete leader, not anymore. Instead, a group of the best regarded five men and two women were conversing in a circle at the head of the table, while everyone else sat with their hands folded in their laps, avoiding eye contact. Draco in particular focused on the tall candle at the center of the table, coincidentally also the only light in the room.

Theodore Nott's leg was frantically moving next to Draco. On his other side, Pansy Parkinson was sitting as still as a statue. Draco's heart hadn't slowed since that morning, and he had no wand to grab onto for comfort. No one at the table did. Everyone standing up conversing at the head of the table were in charge of everything. Their wands, their families, their lives.

There weren't many left to be in charge of. Draco, Pansy, and Theodore and a girl sitting next to Pansy named Evalina were the youngest there. The other handful of “loyals” were all adults. In the air was a hum of nauseating anticipation that people of all ages could feel.

“Pansy Parkinson.”

Draco had not noticed that the seven leaders had now unraveled to stand in one straight line. He looked on as Pansy stood up, bowed her head and awaited her fate. Draco's eyes traveled to his mother, who was seated across from him. She did not meet his eyes for a second, did not cave to give Draco even the smallest comfort he so desperately needed.

“Father: Nicholas Parkinson.” Draco turned his head slowly back to the front where a woman with grey hair and a flat nose named Levia was speaking. “Mother: Elizabeth Parkinson. Only child. Is that all correct?”

“Yes.” Pansy said in a barely audible voice.

“On the day of battle, your family fought for our side. They have always been well thought of. Albeit, recent events have proved we cannot be careful enough of who we trust...we have investigated your family Pansy, and do you wan to know what we have found?”

Pansy looked like she was about to cry. “Yes.”

“You are as loyal as you are pure blooded. You are safe, my dear.”

Draco was close enough to see Pansy's eyes glitter over with tears of relief. She bowed her head repeatedly, whispering thank you thank you thank you. After Levia graced her with an appraising look, Pansy near collapsed back into her seat.

“Evalina Nobekova.” Levia called to stand next.

Evalina was a fifth year Slytherin with mousy hair and doll-like features. She looked as much of a child as she must have felt standing there with her huge blue eyes on Levia. Draco had to look away. It was like watching a bunny get run over by a car.  
“Father: Damon Nobekov. Mother: Tatiana Nobekova. Brother: Peter Nebokv. Is that all correct?”

Evalina did not have the strengh that Pansy had to be able to speak. She slowly nodded her head.   
“Out of everyone, you are the only one with no family here. Do you know why that is?”

Once again, Evalina nodded her head. Tears now were flowing down her round cheeks. The large droplets dripped onto her satin blouse, leaving wet spots on the silky fabric.

“For those of you who don't, Damon and Tatiana fought for our side in the battle, but as soon as the battle was done they ran straight to the winning side like the cowards they are. They gave the ministry information before the very day had even ended, and it resulted in fifteen,” Levia had spite in her eyes, spite in her voice. “Fifteen of our dear, dear friends imprisoned. I was one of them, as you may know. Of course, I was able to talk myself out of it. But I will never forgive for the ones who were not able to.” 

Draco watched as Levia pulled her wand and whipped it at the girl. Evalina was brought to her knees before she was killed.

Levia did not waste any time. “Draco Malfoy.”

Draco stood up slowly. It was the only was he could keep himself at least looking composed. 

“Father: Lucius Malfoy. Mother: Narcissa Malfoy. Only child. Is that all correct?”

“You know it is.” Draco said. He would have added more if there hadn't been such a sudden jolt of hot pain through his right leg. He looked from one leader to the next, his eyes spotting the person who was casting the spell. A man with a buzz cut was smiling as he pointed what Draco recognized as his own wand at him (his own fucking wand, as if the humiliation and searing pain wasn't enough in itself.)

Draco held onto the table ledge to keep from collapsing. The pain turned into a dull throb. The room was painfully silent and Draco wanted to break it with a moan from pain. He didn't.

“Your family fought in the battle on our side.” Levia finally continued. “Your family was highly respected. The Malfoys have always been a great asset to us.” 

Draco looked at his mother, he couldn't help it. He found only the top of her head, as she was looking down at her lap with frightening intensity. 

“Until very recently.” Levia's business like tone had suddenly turned very personal. Very poisonous. “Do you have any idea why that may be?”

“Nor why nor how.” Draco said.

“So always loyal. It would be inspiring if it wasn't pathetic, Now wipe that determined look off your face, you're not as brave as you may think. Not for the plans we have in store. We know what your mother did. We were there, after all. She pronounced Harry Potter dead to the Dark Lord Himself. Do you know why?”

Draco found it safest to say nothing at all.

“Fine. I guess I'll tell you why. Because she is a traitor. If she hadn't come to this meeting, we would currently be in the process of killing her. Alas, here she is. Here you are. So we might as well get some benefit form this, no?”

Draco had prepared himself for this. His mother had told him all about it this morning. About what she did. About why she did it. About what was going to happen now. But now that it was happening, Draco couldn't control himself. He toppled his chair over and charged at Levia. He didn't get two feet before he was thrown back by one spell and Crucio-ed by another.

After the pain and screaming (that Draco identified as his own, yet felt oddly detached from,) had stopped, he was brought by magic to his feet. His muscles were on fire, and every small movement felt like his bones were grating against each other. He felt like a rag doll. He didn't have any energy for fury left, and when he bobbed his head from exhaustion, someone craned his neck back so painfully that he swore he would never let it fall forward again.

He knew he had to listen.

He had no other choice.

“Draco Malfoy. Father in jail, mother on trial. So where does that leave you?” From what Draco could make out with his blurry vision, Levia was strolling closer towards him. “Sorry, that's not a question for you to answer, dear. I'm afraid that's a question that's already been answered by us. You see, your mummy and daddy have fallen out of grace, but I do love a nice story of retribution. You think you can do that, Draco? Do you think you can avenge your weak father and your traitor mother?”

She wasn't expecting him to speak, was she? 

He couldn’t speak. He physically couldn't. He opened and closed his mouth like a trout. He was disgusted with his own weakness.

“I'm guessing that's a yes.” Levia answered for him. She sounded really close now. “What other choice do you have?”

Draco tried to focus. He wished his senses were reversed. He wished his vision was crystal clear rather than his hearing. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so exposed.

“You have such big plans ahead of you, Draco. I really cannot wait for you to serve us good. Serve us right. Serve us like your family could not.”

“Kill me.” Draco was shocked at his ability to spit out those two words. 

He thought he had imagined them until Levia clicked her tongue. “Shall we kill your mother too?”

No! Draco internally screamed. Not my mother. Only me only me only me kill me kill me kill me. 

“You are so translucent, my dear. So...emotional. I have hopes for you yet. Now, since I can plainly see that you do not want your mother dead, I advice you do what we say.”

Draco, hoisted up, his head lolling, and his muscles screaming, latched onto one word. And with all of his strength, he could even say it out loud. He didn't have to repeat himself, once was enough. Once was a promise made. “Anything.”

 

PRESENT

 

Draco woke up in a cold sweat labored with heavy breathing.

This was one of those times that he was most grateful for having his own dorm room. Despite an extra grade level being added (the seventh year repeaters,) Hogwarts was still the emptier than he had ever seen. People were still uneasy, and many parents were too scared to send their kids back after what had happened. Hogwarts would have to live many years in peace before it could get it's credibility back.   
The nightmare was latest one his mind seemed to have latched on to, the one involving his mother. This one was the worst one yet. All of his previous ones had involved him dying. Shaking himself up, Draco rose out of bed to a sharp headache. Great, just another thing he needed. Although he had a suspicion that this was not a product of the dream, but rather of Hermione Granger.

It was weird, he thought as he dressed himself, how their roles had changed. Other than that one time in third year when she decidedly smacked him upside the head, Granger was Miss World Peace at Hogwarts. With her “He's not worth it, Harry,” and “Just forget about him, Ron,” Draco was the one constantly trying to get her to snap. Now, it seemed reversed with her the aggressor and him the receiver. He wanted so badly to put her in her place. 

But no. He was trying to “change.”

After he woke up in the field, long past respectable roaming hours, he wanted nothing more than to exterminate the slime of a witch who had put him on the ground. Draco didn't know what he was more furious with: the fact that she had Stupified him, or the fact that he couldn't do anything about it to even the score. Both were equally terrible, Draco decided as he made his way down to the Great Hall, and he didn't want to think any more about it.

It was his third day back, and the staring as he walked into the Great Hall had decreased sufficiently. Still, he couldn't shake the curious glances of a few. He decided not to care. It was still early, and not many payed much attention to the Slytherin as he made his way to sit next to Theodore Nott, who was reading the Daily Prophet with one hand and holding a piece of toast with another.

“I heard you got into it with the muggle born.” Theodore said, not taking his eyes off of the page. 

“How did you know that?” Draco fired.

“News gets around.”

“I swear to Merlin Theo if you don't tell me right now who told you I will--” Draco started, before being interrupted by his friend.

“Calm down, Draco. I was kidding. Goodness sake, no one knows. I was there...remember the plan? Or was that knocked out of you along with your dignity yesterday?”

“Shut up.” Draco growled.

But he remembered. Along with trying to make Hermione Granger trust him, Draco was supposed to keep an eye on Theodore's progress with his plan. Then, at the end of each week, they were required to report back to the Death Eaters about what had happened to the other and what had happened to them. What progress they had made. And if the two stories didn't match up....well... 

“I take it your personal plan isn't working too well then.”

“It will.” Draco assured him with annoyance. “You didn't really expect her to trust me so easily, did you?”

“No, but I didn't expect you to have an impromptu wizarding duel on the second day either.”

“At least I've approached my project,” Draco bit back. “Which is more than you can say for yourself.”

“I don't know if you've heard of it, but there is such a thing called strategy.” Theodore finally set down his newspapers to focus solely on his toast and the increasingly heated conversation.

“Your idea of strategy sounds a whole lot like cowardice.” Draco pointed out.

Theodore narrowed his eyes at Draco. “You would know.”

Draco didn't know whether he wanted to grab his wand or Theodores' neck. He decided neither was a good idea, especially after what happened yesterday, especially after how long it took to get McGonnogal to trust him enough to come back. 

Instead, he controlled his breathing and grabbed for an apple.

“Been practicing your yoga?” Theodore mocked Draco's heavy breath.

“Eat shit, Nott.” Draco really couldn't think of anything better to say as he got up to walk away. He really was off his game today. 

“Wait,” Theodore grabbed Draco by the bicep, his eyes suddenly holding a somber hue and his voice lowering down two notches. “I'm sorry. I'm stressed. We're in this together, right?”

Draco considered shaking himself free, but he had to learn to have patience. Merlin knew he was going to need it. Considering this good practice, he sat himself back down. “Until the end, I'm afraid.”

***   
Throughout the day, Draco thought back about what Theo said. Strategy. Draco had always been too impulsive. It was the one trait he didn't share with most Slytherins. When he wanted something, he wanted it now. And usually, he got it.

Cunning was fun. 

For a short amount of time.

But then, it was time for action. The more he thought of a prospect the more stress it brought him and the less he was likely to do it. It might work for Theodore, but Draco was not one to sit around and map out ideas. He didn't want to psych himself out. He didn't want to over think this. He didn't want to think about it at all longer than what was necessary. Do the minimal, get the job done, and forget about this whole ordeal all together. 

However, Draco was afraid of what the “minimal” in this situation might be. It felt like a lot. 

He decided to take things as they came, step by step. To focus at the task at hand, and try not to think about the rest. Maybe that way, he would have a better chance of surviving this. 

The problem currently was was that he couldn't decide on a time to pounce his victim. The girl was always on the move. There was no gap of time for Draco to steal. For her, it was breakfast, and straight to class with her nose in a book and then lunch and then back to class and then the library or the common room. During all of this, to top it off, she was never alone. Gryffindors were obsessed with each other, those friendly fuckers. 

And even if he did pull her aside, what would he say? What words could ever be convincing enough for her to trust him? Not any words Draco knew. 

So it left him thinking more about Theodore and what he had said. 

A strategy. 

With one equipped in mind, Draco headed for McGonagalls. 

“Draco,” she drew her lips in a thin line, trying her best to not look displeased to see him. Draco bowed his head. “Come in, if you will. Quickly now, I was currently on my way to take care of one certain poltergeist, but I can spare a minute if it's a fast one.”

Draco hated being in this circled prison of an office. He simultaneously wanted to keep his head up and down. He didn't want to look weak but it took too much will power to do much else. He wanted to have the strength to look up at the headmasters portraits and to never look at them ever. Right now, he was doing a great job of keeping up the latter. 

McGonagall didn't sit, and neither did he. They loitered by the desk, both not thrilled by the concept of sharing a conversation.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked.

“Hermione Granger.” Draco said immediately. 

McGonagall shut her eyes and sighed. “Continue, if you must.”

“I wasn't going to mention it, but I've done a lot of thinking lately,” Draco swallowed and wanted to shut his eyes as well. Not even he wanted to see what he was about to do. “Well, Hermione,” he was careful to use her first name, “attacked me, yesterday night in fact. Out by the lake. Admittedly, we really attacked each other. I don't know if she told you...”

The headmistress knitted her upper brow together. Draco could tell McGonagall had a hard time imagining her darling Hermione doing anything wrong. “She didn't.”

“Well, she did. And I did too. But it made me think, like I said. I wasn't going to mention it. Then I thought, I'm here to change, aren't I? Why not start with paying my dues. This is going to sound crazy. No, it is crazy, but I think that it would do us both a lot of good if Hermione and I paid for this.”

“What are you suggesting, Draco?”

“Detention.”

McGonagall scrutinized him, long and hard. Draco felt like he might melt under that gaze, and he surprised himself for making it past even two seconds of the look many students labeled “The Medusa.”

“I know. It's crazy, right?” Draco tried a good spirited laugh and immediately cursed himself for trying. No matter how good of an actor Draco was, a good spirited laugh simply did not exist within him. “But I think this will be a great learning experience for the both of us. I don't know about her, but I'll be the first to admit I was wrong in my old prejudices. If there could be some way that would only force us together to work these things out once and for all...that would be....that would be perfect.”

Draco squeezed his nails into his palm and bit the inside of his cheek and waited for his words to hit the target. Waited for the impact and the counter shot. 

“I don't think that is as perfect of an idea.” McGonagall decided.

Draco couldn't help himself. He began to pace. Old habits die hard. “Maybe not perfect.” His calm tone was gone. He couldn't help that either. Luckily, he still had control of his words. “But beneficial. Look, I don't want to do this either, but we both know it would be a huge step towards redemption.”

“Redemption.” McGonagall huffed. “And what do you think Hermione is going to get out of this? Is your redemption worth her suffering?”

“No. Of course not.” Draco clenched his jaw. “It would be worth her healing.”

“Her healing, Draco?”

“You should have seen her yesterday. That girl is filled to the brim with unresolved anger. If not anything else, this would be the perfect opportunity for her to let go of that.” 

“Let go of it or intensify it, which one do you think it will be?”

“All I'm saying is it's worth a try.” Draco stopped pacing and turned slowly. From the corner of his eye, he could see all of the eyes of the portrait on him. He shook off the loathsome feeling of being scrutinized. McGonagall was right there with them, judging him for all he was worth. Which wasn't much in her eyes, Draco knew. Would she really go for this? Would she really pair her favorite student up with her least?

She would. 

“Alright.” McGonagall said. “It's worth a try....and I suppose if it was ever the time to look beyond old prejudices it would be now.”

Draco felt a huge rush of success and something else he had not felt in many months: control. “Thank you. You won't regret this. But one more thing, I think it would be a bad idea to let Granger,” he wasn't careful enough and let her last name slip, but he knew he must not dwell on that, so he continued. “It wouldn't be a good idea to let Hermione know that this was my idea.”

“And why not?” McGonagall was straightening her robes, the conversation was ending.

“She won't go along with it.” Draco admitted. “It will make her spiteful, not forgiving.”

Now there was a truth.

“Fine,” McGonagall quirked an eyebrow. “Any more requests, Draco? Perhaps next week you and Hermione could move in together?”

This felt like a test. Like a Lets-See-How-Draco-Malfoy-Reacts-To-This-Comment test. He had seen many tests like this before, and thus learned to identify when he was being given one and keep a controlled face. He did this now without problem, and with award winning sincerity said: “If that's what it comes to, I'll do it.”

McGonagall actually rolled her eyes. “Get out of here, Malfoy. You've already overstayed your welcome. Oh, and I may not tell Hermione this was your plan, but I also do not plan on telling her about this at all. That job will belong to you.. Let it be known to you and her that you will have detention every Friday for....hmm, would two weeks be substantial?” 

“One month?” Draco asked hopefully.

“Three weeks. Take it rather than leave it.”

Draco left the office in high spirits and a shadow of rhythm in his walk only to bump straight into someone on his way out.

The girl was very pretty, with dark hair and green eyes. Draco immediately recognized her to be a Slytherin two years younger than him, Astoria Greengrass. 

“Sorry,” he breathed quickly before moving on.

Any other day he would have seen how hard she was trying to make friendly eye contact, and he would have stopped to make conversation with the very pretty pureblooded Slytherin. But today he went past her without a second glance. His thoughts were too preoccupied with a bushy haired mudblooded Gryffindor. 

*

Tomorrow was Friday. For Draco, it was too soon and not soon enough. 

He knew he would have to tell her soon, before she retired towards the Gryffindor tower for the night. His dignity was deteriorating by the minute, but he wouldn't let himself get so far as to try to fetch her in there. He was going to have to pull her aside in the hall. Ideally, that would work...lunch was his second best option. And if he lost his nerve then, dinner was absolute emergency.

Lunch was a reminder of Theo and his fucking strategist, and Draco couldn't help the rising panicked question that surged through him: was he going too fast?

Tuesday he had come back. He was lucky (unlucky?) enough to have caught her by the lake and he took the opportunity to start his plan, thinking it a sign. Then just Wednesday (was it really just yesterday?) they had their infamous brawl. And today he had gone and told McGonagall all about it like some Hufflepuff snitch, and what more, he asked for detention! A detention that McGonagall hesitantly granted him for Friday....which was tomorrow. Draco realized he was going to be nursing a series of wounds to his pride long after this mission was over. 

With one look at Theo, all of this resurfaced. Theo had been here for two weeks and still not made a move on his target and here was Draco, three days at Hogwarts and already he was fucking up his entire existence. Of course it was going to be worth it in the end, if he succeeded, but he couldn't help but second guess if there was a better way to go about all of this.

He suddenly realized, with a pang of an unwanted epiphany, that it was going to be either him or Theo that was going to succeed. The chances were slim that they could both complete their tasks with such different approaches. This was all trial and error, and someone was more likely than not going to be error.

“Draco,” Theo acknowledged him with a nod as Draco made his way towards the table. 

Draco mumbled something in return before sitting down carefully beside him. Even more carefully, he cast a willing glance at a particular spot at the Gryffindor table. Granger sat, mid laugh at what Ginny Weasely was currently going on about. Draco couldn't imagine any world where those two had any sense of humor as he watched them with forced eyes. He had to keep a careful tab on Granger, as he was planning to leave just after her so he could catch a moment to let her know of tomorrows plan. 

“Be a little more obvious about it,” Theo whispered to his side. “I dare you.”

Draco broke his stare and started to pile food onto his plate. “Be a little less obvious about it. Oh wait, that's not possible.”

“Draco, come on, I'm just messing with you.” Theo tried to catch his eye, but Draco refused to look at anywhere other than his plate. “You're just so tense all of the time. I know life sucks but brooding 'round like fucking Snape junior isn't going to help.”

Draco wanted to hit Theo for his comment about Snape just a fraction less than he didn't want to draw attention or get into any more trouble. He restrained, and to keep his hands occupied, began to eat. Snape was a traitor, Potter and his crew made sure that that was a world known fact after the battle that the latest late Headmaster had always been on their side. On the good side. Now, they were going around spilling his name like a gospel choir. Draco wouldn't be surprised if Potter named one of his offspring after him.

“Once again, Draco, I'm just kidding--”

“--Don't ever compare me to him again.” Draco uttered, shoulders tense over his plate. “Not even under your pathetic disguise of a joke.”

Theo began to say something but Draco had suddenly stood up. Granger was on the move. Swinging her brown shoulder bag onto her, she was now walking away from the Gryffindor table, looking to be in far too good a mood for Draco. Not for long, he thought with a sick satisfaction. 

He allowed himself generous trailing distance from her, but kept his gaze targeted on the back of her curly head. She walked fast, he noted. It was when they were out in the almost empty hall when he made his presence behind her known.

“Want to get the first seat in class, Granger?” He couldn't help but jive.

She didn't turn around at first, as if dreading the very idea of seeing him. Well, he was feeling the same way. He almost wanted her to ignore him like she always did before, to keep walking. But he knew that before was not now, and everyone had changed. So, as it would be, she turned around. Draco thought that her idol must be McGonagall from the gaze she was training him with. 

“Want me to stupefy you again?” She retorted.

Okay, ouch. That was a hit to his pride. But a hit he could tolerate because what would come next would hit her harder. “Actually,” Draco said, making sure to sound as collected as possible when he wanted to sound cocky. “I'm glad you bring that up.”

She made that stupid confused face that he hated. Where she scrunched up her eyebrows and just generally looked like a lost fucking puppy. Might as well get it out now, it didn't look like she was going to speak. 

“I told McGongall about that.” Draco tried his best to look annoyed, which wasn't hard. He barely had to act. “Thinking that she would give you detention. And she did.”

“You're lying.” She was taking controlled breaths through her nose. “Why would she give me detention and not you?”

“Ah, just the question. “ Draco statistically complimented. “As a matter of fact, she did.”

“You're still lying...or...or something.” Granger really was running out of snark and fast at the sudden mention of detention.

“Tomorrow in the west wing archive room. Seven o'clock. See you there.”

Draco wanted so badly to add something sarcastic on, just a little something rude to get him through the day. He knew, however, that that sort of thing wouldn’t help his case. He was trying to work forwards here. For now, the look she had on her face was going to have to be enough. And to be honest, Granger did not disappoint in that department. Not in the slightest.

As a matter of fact, it was that look that gave Draco the very happiness he had striven for as he turned back to re-enter the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to review :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione was fifteen minutes early.

To detention. 

Those fifteen minutes were not unappreciated however. She took the time to compose herself. The archive room was huge, a perfect rectangle, with dark wood cabinets as tall as skyscrapers at twenty feet spanning across one wall. The rest of the walls were empty, save a few candles emitting a warm glow that calmed Hermione as she walked up to one of the cabinets and ran a finger over the smooth wood. She had to admit, her detention task could have been much worse. Organizing files was not something Hermione dreaded. Actually...she was quite curious to see what ancient storage made it here.

She was able to hold onto her good mood for approximately three seconds before the reality of who she was sharing this lovely evening with strolled through the door. She was almost able to be amused for the fact that Draco Malfoy was early to detention as well, if she wasn't already filled to the brim with other much less amiable emotions towards his entrance. She turned around immediately, as if to show she was ready for a fight.

But Malfoy payed her no attention. He was walking towards the other side of the room already, and when he reached the cabinet the furthest away from her, he slid it open and extracted a document. Opening the folder in which a students information was kept, Hermione watched as he calmly did what he was sent here to do, without a word.

Hermione was just fine with this. She was elated by this, and with renewed good energy, began to sort through her side of the room. 

Their task was simple and unnecessary and redundant. It was actually insulting at how stupid easy it was. Each skinny cabinet was a different year, and each drawer was a different grade level. In each drawer, there were four sections: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. In each section there were many folders, each folder containing information on a different student. Their job was to make sure that each student was in the correct designated folder in their designated house in their designated drawer in their designated cabinet. 

Hermione didn't want to guess how many students there were. A freaking lot, was her closest estimate. She focused at the matter of hand, and while not finding herself enjoying it, found herself being relaxed by it. Sure, she could think of hundreds of things she would rather be doing, but this wasn't necessarily horrible. Not at all.

Two hours passed before Hermione began to notice that the inevitable was slowly drawing closer. Malfoy, that is. Since they started on opposite sides of the room, they had to work towards each other, thus closing the blessed gap with every cabinet. Hermione found herself taking her time with the files, as to prolong this development. Still, keeping distance from Draco Malfoy proved to be as fruitless as ever. He had quite of way of leeching onto her and making her life hell. Why should this be any different? Hermione was almost amused at the metaphorical symbolism here.

“So did you tell them?”

“No.” Hermione said immediately. Too fast. She cursed under her breath. Of course she had told Harry and Ron about what Malfoy had told her. She told them everything. 

Hermione looked over to where Malfoy was, a horrible distance of too close. His eyes, however, remained on the particular document he was looking through. His hands were careful as he placed it back and moved onto the next one. She looked up, expecting to see a smug little face but only being met with a calm one. She turned focus back to her own file in her hands, all the while in shock of how nothing had been thrown across the room yet. 

“Either way, I don't care. Just don't say I didn't warn you.”

Okay, so something was going to get thrown soon. Hermione was afraid it was going to be her to make the first lunge. That was okay too. She slammed a drawer shut, and turned towards him. “And what is that supposed to mean? Why do you have to say stuff like that, anyways? Like honestly, would it hurt so much to keep your pseudo self righteous mouth shut for once in your entire stupid life? And guess what?! If you didn't care, you wouldn't have TOLD ME!” 

Malfoy just went on checking files as if nothing had happened.

“Oh fantastic. What are you playing at now? The exasperated hero that's too above this? Ha! That's good, that's really good. Okay, I'll get you your award now, maybe I'll recommend you to the drama department, yeah?”

“You know what Hermione?” Malfoy exploded, swiveling towards her.

“What?” Hermione had the same amount of fire in her voice, if not more.

“You're not very likable.”

Hermione could have laughed. In fact, she did laugh. At this, Malfoy looked amused, which made her mad again.

“I'm sorry. I'm not likable?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy looked angry now too. “You think you're so perfect with your good grades and holier than thou attitude. Well I have information that you won't find in a book; it gets old. At least I'm trying to change, while you'll go through your entire life with your nose in the air and your brow higher than the queens.”

“So just because I didn't commit genocide on a couple thousand of people I'm considered to be 'too good?'” 

They had both long forgotten the files. And inside voices.

“Do you understand the word change or did you skip that while reading the entire dictionary?”

“Well sorry I try to have intellect! Sorry I try to be a good person! Sorry that I wasn't so cruel that I have to change! How terrible of me!”

“Well sorry that I'm trying to change. How terrible of me!”

“That's right,” Hermione stalked closer to him, and jutted an angry finger in his direction. She would have jutted him in the chest, except even angry she had enough sense not to touch him. “You're going to have to do a lot more than running around preaching change. Believe it or not, you have a long way to go before you prove yourself.”

At that statement, the look on his face was truly priceless. Hermione's suspicion was solidified into place: Draco had thought this would come to him easy. Easier than he had expected at least.

Not if she could help it. 

Finally satisfied, she took a few deep breaths before returning to her cabinet. From the corner of her eye, she could still see Draco looking at her.

“What?” She whirled around, impatient and annoyed. “Anything else to say?”

“You're hair is different.” He commented.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Hermione being shocked was an understatement. What kind of a transition was that? What game was he playing now? She was getting exhausted having to keep up. She was getting even more exhausted not knowing what she was keeping up with or whether her keeping up was necessary at all.

It was different though. Hermione had been playing around with some beauty charms for fun. She wanted a more mature look to her. Obviously the bushy hair was going to have to be tamed one day or another. She still kept it curly and all, just further on the “sleek” spectrum or whatever. It really was not a big deal. She just wanted an air of professionalism. She didn't even know why she was getting so worked up over such a stupid comment. It was most likely just Malfoy messing with her.

“Huh.” Draco grunted. “Well.”

“Please,” Hermione said, “Keep your overflowing compliments internalized.” 

Draco shook his head. “Where does all of that aggression go, when I'm not around?”

“Well obviously it doesn't come on in the first place.” Hermione pointed out.

That was a lie though. Hermione had always had a feisty side to her. It was Ron and Harry that she took it out on. But she had to admit, Draco in some ways was a better target. For one, she didn't care if she ever hurt his feelings. Also, in a sick twisted way she kind of appreciated having an equally as snarky opponent. Harry cared about her too much to fight, and talking to Ron...well talking to Ron was like talking to a wall.

It was one of the bigger reasons why they didn't work out in the long run. After their kiss, they decided to date. After two months, they decided to break up. It wasn't that it wasn't good...It was good. But Hermione felt something missing. She had called the break, and Ron had taken it. Well, he had taken it. He had accepted it, in the end.

The thing was, Hermione never knew herself outside of the trio. Outside of the war. Would she have even liked Ron in the first place if it weren't for it? She wasn't ready to settle into it. She wanted to explore herself to make sure it was really what she wanted.

“Yeah,” Although Hermione couldn’t see him, she imagined Malfoy was rolling his eyes. “I'm so sure.”

Hermione shook her stress off, deciding to ignore the comment. They worked in silence for a few more minutes. Malfoy broke it of course. She wasn't surprised. Malfoy always seemed to ruin the nice things in life.

“Could you stop that?”

“Stop what?” Hermione asked, slamming a drawer shut.

“That damn humming. It's driving me half mad, as if these files aren't enough.”

“Humming? What humming? I'm not humming.” But it was at that moment that Hermione realized that she had been. She definitely wasn't going to admit it now, though.

“Okay, then if you happen to find the source of the noise that sounds very suspiciously like your hum, would you be so kind to shut it up?”

“Fine.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine!” 

“You have the mental maturity of a ten year old, you do know that?”

“Afraid of me having the last word, Malfoy?”

“Just trying to save you from making a fool of yourself, which is a daunting task as it's nearly impossible.”

“Making a fool around you is quite difficult when in comparison you're such a baboon!”

“Baboon? Really, that's your grand insult?”

Hermione crossed her arms for about the billionth time in the last hour. “So what if it is? Does it offend you so much that I pointed it out?”

“Apparently not as much as it embarrasses you that I pointed it out. I mean seriously, baboon, that's the weakest insult I have ever heard. An actual baboon could come up with something better.”

“This conversation is over. As of now.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Now who's the ten year old?”

The conversation seemed far from over but before either could continue, both shut up. Their shutting up was due to a sound unanimously heard. A scraping, bumping kind of sound, that was suddenly coming from and thrashing in one of the cabinet drawers. The one directly in between them.


	4. Chapter 4

Subtly pulling out his wand, Draco watched as Grangers curiosity led her to the drawer from which a small thumping sound was coming from. Reaching out a hand, she pressed it flat against the wood. 

“Go ahead,” Draco realized he was whispering, and with that realization immediately took on a more assertive tone. “Open it, then.”

To his surprise, she obeyed. 

The thing that whizzed out of the dark space could not be recognized, as it began to shift shape before it even hit the light of the room. The shift was over in less than a fraction of a second, and in it's place stood Draco's late aunt. 

Bellatrix Lestrange stood glaring at Granger, who now Draco noticed was shakily stepping, no, tumbling backwards from the dark cloaked figure. Draco's eyes were drawn back to his aunt as she began to pull something from under her robes. A long silver knife made itself known to the room with a glint and an elated grin from Bellatrix. 

This all happened within seconds, and in those seconds it was the shock and confusion that kept Draco from acting out quicker. Luckily, his good sense came back, allowing him to act faster that the still-shocked Granger.

Draco swung his arm and concentrated. “Riddikulus!” 

Bellatrix twisted and mutated into a black sphere, before disappearing into a gray vapor, and then finally evaporating all together as if she was never there. Which, of course, she wasn't. Not really.

The tension that now occupied the room was almost as great as it had been when Bellatrix was supposedly in it. This was a very different kind of tension. A mutual feeling of relief, embarrassment, and the inability to speak. From his vantage point, he could see Granger from the corner of his eye. See how she was now smoothing down her robes and wiping back a few strands of loose curls.

“A boggart.” Granger said finally, her matter-of-fact tone in place. “I should have known that.”

“I thought your biggest fear was failure?” Draco said. He remembered this quite well having used the knowledge to tease her.

“A war can change some things.” 

Draco didn't even know why he asked the question. He remembered the Malfoy Manor incident too well, although he would never use this knowledge to tease her, no matter the advantage. As he was thinking this, he did take a moment to think of his current advantages. Granger was definitely shaken, perhaps even in shock from the look of her pale complexion. He had just witnessed her biggest fear, this no doubt creating a sense of helpless exposure within her. 

Yes, for his plans, Draco had her right where he needed her to be. Or as close as he needed her to be at this point in time. Without a doubt they would have to get closer.

“She's dead.” Draco tried to take on a comforting tone of voice. “Forever.”

“You think I don't realize that now?” Granger snapped.

Okay. So maybe he needed a different approach. Granger was not meeting the glance he was so carefully crafting to look sympathetic. She had gone back to the cabinet she had last left off at, not the boggart one, and began to sort through the files. He could see the paper vibrating in tune with her shaking fingers, but she seemed to ignore it.

Draco thought back to how he would have reveled in this perfect opportunity to humiliate her. To kick her while she's down. He felt sick at how much he had not changed. He was still in a way attempting to kick her while she's down. He was utilizing this moment for his own needs. 

No, that's where he was wrong, he told himself. He wasn't doing this for himself. He was doing this for his mother.

3 WEEKS AGO

Draco woke up right where they left him. On a cold concrete floor, covered in his own drying blood and matted clothes. Scraping himself off of the floor, he was met with a pounding in his head that overpowered everything else off with it's sheer strength. When he could regain control on the searing pain, he looked up to a blurry room. Peeling himself up further, he was able to stand. Crunched over, he limped to the door.

“I wouldn't.” Someone said to his right. Alarmed, Draco looked down.

Theodore Nott was sitting against the wall, dark cloaked and about as bleary eyed as Draco. Unscathed though.

“How long was I out?”

“Two hours?” Theodore said. “I don't know, time in here doesn't seem to exist.”

“Fuck.” Draco breathed. “What happened?”

“Well. After you were gone they moved on to me. Then they left, locked us both in this room. I got the same shit end of the stick you did, you know. Same mission or whatever it is they want us to redeem ourselves with.”

“My mother.” Draco said, remembering with a jolt of panic.“What did they do with her? Is she hurt?”

“Took her away. Along with my sister.” Theo put his head between his hands. “They're gone, Draco. They're using them as leverage. Against us.”

Draco shook his head. He thought as much, but it still hurt to acknowledge. He thought back to his last few seconds of consciousness...his last word. Anything, he had promised to do anything. And he knew that he would stick with that promise. He would die trying to keep it. Although now, he was getting sick at what that promise might entail.

“How long do you think they'll keep us here?” Theo asked. 

It was then that Draco saw how young and helpless the young death eater looked. Like a little boy in his fathers cloaks. Like hell if Draco was going to look the same. He painfully straightened himself further and clenched his jaw. 

“They have to let us out eventually. If you think about it, we're all that they have left. Who else will step up to do the dirty work? No, no one. That's why they had to force us.”

Somewhere along Draco's speech, Theo began to cry. Draco looked down with disgust at the pitiful image of his friend with his head in his hands, sobbing barely audibly, but sobbing all the same.

“Stop that.” Draco growled. “They'll kill you. Stop that.”

“I don't care.” Theo's voice broke. “In fact, I wish they would!”

Draco kind of wished the same. But he knew better. They would never kill them. “What about your sister? Huh? Do you want them to kill her?”

He had thought this would shock the tears from Theo. Apparently not. The boy was now moaning in pain. Draco looked wildly around him towards the door. If this distressed Theo to this point, there was no way the lad could handle the Crucio they would inevitably curse him with.

“Cut it out.” Draco whispered. “I'm serious. Cut that shit out.”

He was getting tired from standing, but sitting down seemed even more painful. Draco remained upright.

“Oh, Merlin.” Theo moaned. “What are they going to do? What are they going to do?”

“Shut up.” Draco said, leaning a forearm against the wall for support. “Whatever it is they have planned, none of that is helping right now.”

Theo continued on, and Draco began to pace around the room. He tried the door. Locked, as he guessed it. All that left was the table, and with no better option, Draco took a seat at one of the chairs, careful not to groan at the crunching pain of sitting down. Theo, having stopped crying at last, was now sniffling on the floor.

“Come sit by me.” Draco mumbled unhappily. “When they come in, it's probably not a great idea to be whimpering on the floor.”

Theo collected himself and shakily walked over to the chair next to Draco. His voice raspy he asked: “Do you have a heart? Really, do you?”

“Save the theatrics, Nott.” Draco mumbled. “Be as it may, I have a brain. That's what you need to focus on. That's what you need to use.”

“We're as good as dead, Draco. You know it too. What good is a brain when you're as good as dead?”

Draco was sick of it. Frustrated, he began to stand up, only to drop back down at the sound of grating as the vault-like-door slowly opened. Levia stood with another member of the Loyals named Patrick Stump. Stump was a lanky guy, the irony of it hit Draco with dark humor. Other than his height, Stump was matched with a skinny face, skinny nose, skinny mouth and big protruding eyes. His light brown hair was limp to his shoulders. Levia, not surprisingly, led the way. 

“Good to see you've recovered, Draco.” Levia said, her tone not at all glad. 

“Where's my mother?” Draco simply asked. He focused his dark look on Stump, who out of the two would be likelier to crack. Levia stepped in front of Stump, apparently aware of Draco's plans.

“Locked up, as she should be.” Levia answered. “Along with Theodore's sister. You should be kissing my feet for not killing them.”

“How do I know you didn't? I'm not following any orders until I see her.” Draco said. “And I'm not following any orders unless I keep seeing her.”

“Sure, child. Of course.” Levia said in a sweet voice. “No matter how much I want to carve her face with my wand, I know well enough she is more good to us alive than dead.”

“Alive and unhurt.” Draco said. “Alive and unhurt.”

“As long as you're a good little boy and follow orders, Draco, alive and unhurt she will be, yes.”

“You keep talking of these orders.” Theo said. “Come on then. Tell us, why don't you?”

Levia drew her wand, but a hand from behind her reached to touch her arm. Stump stepped forward and spoke for the first time. “We may as well, Levy.”

Levia shook his hand off of her, but lowered her wand. “Fine. Now listen close, I'm not going to repeat myself. We should have acted faster as it is. Do you know what today was?”

The worst day of my life Draco thought, but said nothing. 

“September first.” Levia said with obvious annoyance at having to fill them in. “Meaning Hogwarts is officially back in session.” She said the word Hogwarts as if it were dirty. 

“What?” Theo leaned back in his chair. “Are you sending us back to school?”

The idea might have seemed ridiculous to Theo, but blood was already draining from Draco's face. He had been here before. Except the Dark Lord was in Levias place...asking him to complete tasks even the worthiest wizard couldn't. It was happening again. Levia was sending him back to do what he failed to do at first, wasn't she?

“Calm down, Draco.” Levia said. Draco was mortified at how translucent he must be. “It's not that. It's different. I'm not actually trying to kill you. Of course, that is not to say that I will be upset if things were to turn in that direction...I could care less. This task isn't easy, but it's...doable. I think you may actually have a chance, isn't that exciting?”

“Well, what is it then?” Theo urged on, shifting around in his seat.

Levia shot him a furious look. Draco kicked Theo under the table and the latter boy looked down like a scolded puppy.

“As a matter of fact, you will be going back to Hogwarts. As soon as we figure out a way to to get you in...security is still tricky, if you believe it. Anyways, as soon as we forge your path, you'll be leaving to complete your seventh year.”

“Why?” Draco interrupted. That's all he really wanted to know, not about the forgery. 

“Because Harry Potter is impossible to get to.” Levia said. “But his friends aren't.”

“His friends?” Theo asked.

“Well, Ron Weasely is right along Potter's ranks of difficulty to capture. They're out of school, you see. No, our plans won't work on either of them. Luckily, Hermione Granger is back to complete her seventh year, from what I hear. Along with Ginny Weasely. Now there's a task. There's something. Get them, and our chances of getting Potter at last are a sealed deal.”

“Get them,” Draco corrected, “and we're all dead.”

“You're wrong.” Levia's voice took on a haunted, far away hue. “With those girls as leverage, there isn't much we can't accomplish. Even if one of you were to fail, the other would be substantial. If both of you were to fail, oh—let's not get to that yet.”

“Get to it.” Draco growled. He wanted to know what stake he was playing for.

“Dead. Your mother. Your sister. Both of them.”

Draco didn't ask any more questions. He did not have any doubts.

If he failed, his mother would die.

“And if we were to succeeded?” Perhaps he did have another question.

“Isn't the life of your mother enough, son?” Stump asked gravely.

It was. 

PRESENT

“One time,” Draco began, “I walked in on her teasing her hair. It didn't actually look so rat-nest like on it's own, she had to make it look like that. She used to scare me too, but that little moment made it better, somehow. There's something laughable about a death eater so focused on being terrifying, I think. Makes you think that maybe she really wasn't as frightening as she wanted you to think. And that's it really; she wanted everyone so badly to think her frightening.”

“Are you undermining my fears, Malfoy?” Hermione grumbled.

“I'm not.” Draco said in reply. “I don't even know why I told you that—it's stupid. I was trying to help. Sorry.” The last part was especially excruciating to get out. It wasn't even that it was so painful to get Granger to like him, if only there was a way his pride wasn't trampled on in the process.

Granger didn't have anything to add apparently, and soon Draco returned to his own drawer that had been left open and forgotten in the heat of things. Towards the end, they had to stand close to one another as they worked on the files, which was an idea that was so unappealing to Granger that she took her files and sat against the cabinet quite a ways from him. He would have found it offensive if he paid any mind to it. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. 

He was all for taking action, but this week was taking a toll. 

And it felt like he was just beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione was ravenous in the morning. She could barely even focus on the questions that Ginny, Rory, and Dean were assaulting her with as she was piling onto her plate every kind of breakfast food from A through Z. Having not eaten yesterday from stress of the upcoming detention, Hermione was now making up for it. Still, the protruding questions from her friends could hardly be ignored. So after a few mouthfuls, she had little choice but address them. 

“Was it hellish?” Rory wondered.

“What did you have to do?” interjected Dean.

“How long did it take?”asked Ginny. 

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on a bite of biscuit. “It was fine. We had to sort through files, and that took a little over four hours, I think.”

“That's not too bad, then.” Dean commented. “Although I do wonder what McGonogall has in plan for next time.”

Hermione could have groaned at the thought of there being a next time. Luckily, her friends must have caught on to her miserable expression at having to relive the encounter. They veered off onto another topic efficiently, although she could tell they wanted to know more.

The first time was always the worst with everything, right? Well she now knew what to expect at least. And there was no way that it could go any worse in the future than it did last night...

Hermione couldn't think about it, not now, not ever. The more she thought about the boggart the more miserable she became...and now the self depleting thoughts were coming again and she fought them back by focusing on something that Ginny was talking about. 

“I hate this stupid weather.” The younger witch was commenting on the rainy day. “I mean, we're at a wizarding school and they can't even think up of a charm to keep Hogwarts in sunny conditions year round. I mean, at least the field for goodness sake!”

“I love watching Quidditch in the rain,” Rory grinned. “It's so much more entertaining.”

“Yeah, not when you're playing, Rory.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Not so entertaining then.”

“Well it does create a bit of a challenge, doesn't it?” Hermione joined in. “That's what makes sport fun.”

“Please, Hermione.” Dean laughed. “That's real cute.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Just because I'm a girl you think I can't know about sport?”

“Actually no,” Ginny sided with Dean. “Just because you're Hermione means you don't know much about sport. Quidditch, most of all.”

“I know about Quidditch,” Hermione defended herself. And she did, she had read about it before. “Just because I don't talk about it much doesn't mean I'm not familiar with the sport! I'm just not interested is all.”

Dean and Ginny exchanged a look that Hermione hated. A look that made her feel crazy. She looked to Rory for help, the least fiery of them all, but she was of course already strategically engaged in friendly conversation with some other Gryffindors around them. She knew she had exploded a bit, but she was just on edge is all.

“Alright then.” Hermione adjusted the strap on her cross body bag tighter. “I'm going in to talk to Professor Flinch. I'll see you guys later.” 

She hated being so hot tempered with her friends. Little disagreements like this shouldn't even matter, and they didn't. Hermione just needed space to acknowledge just how much they didn't matter. She was just about to stand up when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She twisted around to Malfoy's less than thrilled face.

She really was in no mood. “What?” 

The table had gotten noticeably quieter, and Hermione felt her face heat. 

“I'm just letting you know that next Friday at seven we have detention in the first floors girls lavatories.”

If the table was quiet before, it was in complete and embarrassing silence now as people craned their necks to listen to their exchange, which didn't prove to be a long one as Malfoy with one last disgusted look around the table, was on his way.

“That lavatory?” Hermione heard Rory whisper as the former hurried after Malfoy. “What in the--”

“Malfoy, wait!” Hermione didn't have a long gap to close, and although Malfoy didn't seem pleased to be walking with her out of the Great Hall, he didn't speed away either.

“Why,” Hermione was horribly out of breath for the small amount of space she had ran. “Why there?” 

“They're remodeling it, I guess.” Malfoy shot her a peeved look. “We're supposed to paint it.” 

“Oh,” They really were walking the same way. It was terrible. She had to push onwards or run away. She pushed onwards. “Well. I guess it does make sense, doesn't it? No chamber to hide now...although, I don't see how anyone can make that place pleasant enough to justify being around that Myrtle.”

“Myrtle is a nice girl.” Malfoy said curtly.

Hermione studied him for a hint of a joke. He caught her questioning glance, and she shot her head down. He really was a jerk the way he messed about.

“I'm serious, Hermione.” Draco said, eyes ahead. “Now, if you want to so badly, there's a toilet here on the left you can now escape too.”

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it. 

She dodged into the bathroom on the left. 

She leaned against the basin and rotated her neck in slow circles. She had slept on it weird. There really had never been any conversation between her and Malfoy that Hermione didn't automatically want to dissect for hours. Sure, she might force herself to pretend it didn't happen, but that wasn't to say that she didn't want to find meaning in every word.

If she was dreading detention last time, that was nothing in comparison to now. If Malfoy wasn't enough to make that time worth dreading, in entered the prospect of Myrtle. It wasn't that Hermione even disliked Myrtle so much rather more the other way around. Ever since second year, Myrtle hated Hermione and called her “kitty cat” and other equally as immature names that no matter how hard Hermione chose to ignore, could not escape her all completely. 

And what was it that Malfoy said about Myrtle, about him liking her? Surely, he was joking. Myrtle was a muggleborn. So really there were two possibilities: either Malfoy didn't know about her blood status, or he was kidding. 

No, why would he be kidding? That definitely didn't make any sense. So it had to be the first one. Hermione knew she had very purposefully skipped the last possibility: he knew, but liked her none the less. No, that was impossible. No matter how much Malfoy went about spewing his speeches about change, Hermione still was a skeptic. A huge one at that. People just did not change that quickly, that suddenly, the dramatically. They just didn't!

Two giggling girls entered the restroom just then, snapping Hermione out of her stupor. Hermione pretended to tuck some pieces of hair back into their pins as the girls chatted and teased at their own hair. 

Hermione met her eyes in the mirror. She was still flushed from the recent encounter, but besides that, she looked normal. Okay, so I don't look as crazy as I feel, she thought with relief. Not yet, anyways. These three weeks of detention were really going to take a toll on her. She couldn't wait until the whole ordeal was something she could pretend never happened and never hear or speak a mention of it again.

•••

Later that day, Ginny found Hermione in the library. 

Ginny took Hermione's hand from across the table. “I'm sorry. For earlier. It was stupid.”

Hermione looked up from her homework and smiled. “Come on Ginny, don't apologize. I was a proper idiot. I should be apologizing.”

Ginny smiled before taking on a more somber look. “The weirdest thing happened today. Wanna hear?” 

Hermione set her quill down and leaned back in her chair. “Okay.”

“Do you know Theodore Nott?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah.” Hermione frowned. “Why?”

“He asked me to tutor him in potions. Isn't that the weirdest thing?”

“That is weird,” Hermione said. “Why would he do that?”

“He started going on about change, Hermione. And how he wanted to close the bridge and how this was a way for him to start. How familiar does that sound?”

Although Draco had been more subtle, it did sound scarily familiar. Hermione was lost.

“I know you hate Malfoy, but what if they are trying to change? I mean, I've seen crazier things happen. They have been brainwashed their entire lives on what was right. Imagine being in their position and finding out that right was wrong all along. It might make the transition awkward, but you would still want to change, wouldn't you?”

Hermione couldn't imagine. 

“I'm not defending them. Just something to think about.” Ginny was picking at a string on her robes, but her hands were stiff and unnatural, as if she were trying to hard to remain casual. “What do you think?”

“Why so sudden?” Hermione said. “Why so soon?”

“Imagine. Their side has just lost. Their family beliefs have been crushed. Their own parents have been thrown in jail. They're confused, Hermione. They're blindly searching for someone else to fill them in. Someone else to show them the truth. That could be us.”

Suddenly, Hermione felt sick with stress. “I don't want that to be us. Why does it have to be us?” 

“It has to be someone.” Ginny said, leaning forward. “Why not us, if anyone? They have come for us. And it makes sense in a way. They want to right their wrongs. Who better than with us?”

“You're too good, Ginny.” Hermione said. “I don't have that kind of righteousness in me.”

“If anyone does, it's you Hermione.” Ginny said. 

Well what if I don't want to? Hermione thought bitterly. What if I have had enough? This was supposed to be my year. Mine. And now...

“Listen, I'm not asking you to be best friends with Malfoy. I'm just saying...maybe he's not as bad as you think. Maybe you could help him out. Or at least, I don't know, be civil. Somehow.”

“I am civil.” Hermione defended herself. “I am more civil than he desrves.”

Ginny looked disappointed. Hermione hated it. Hated how because of Malfoy she was disappointed her friend. 

“So you're going to tutor Nott,” Hermione guessed bitterly.

“I am,” Ginny, to Hermione's growing despair, sounded excited. “I talked it over with McGongall and even she thinks it's a good idea. There's this ugly gap that's existed between Gryffindor and Slytherin for so long. Well guess what? Fuck that gap, and fuck Voldemort and everyone else who created it. It's terrible, and I don't want to sit around in tension for the rest of the year. I don't want my kids to sit around in tension for the rest of their years at Hogwarts, Hermione. Do you?”

Hermione was so proud of Ginny. So proud and so pissed off. Because the younger girl was right. 

Ginny continued on, “I've decided that winning the war doesn't fix everything. We have to do that. And it takes a long time. It takes forever. But it's something I want to commit forever to.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. She wasn't fully convinced, but she would be lying if Ginny's speech hadn't opened up something inside of her. Something that now was making her say: “Okay.”

“So you agree?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“I agree.” Hermione said, and at seeing Ginny's elated grin put up a finger. “But that is not to say that I'm about to make a time commitment to pleasing Malfoy.”

“Of course not,” Ginny smiled slyly. “I wouldn't ever in my right mind think I could convince you to do that.”

Hermione pretty much agreed. No one could convince her to do that.


	6. Chapter 6

On Sunday morning, Draco was shook awake by Theo. 

“What?” Draco looked about, alarmed. “What? What?”

“Come on, we're late. Merlin, it's the first week and we're late.”

Oh, that's right. Draco now remembered all to well. He dressed quickly, barely bothering with buttoning his shirt in all of the right places. Theo watched him nervously from the corner of the room. 

“Let's get to it then,” said Theo, more to himself than to Draco. 

It was five in the morning. The sun was just waking up, but Theo and Draco were wide awake as they hurried through the halls of Hogwarts. They didn't have to go far, just up to a window right by the stairs leading from the dungeons. Creaking the window open, they tumbled out one after the other onto a grassy patch at the back of the castle. The grass was wet with dew as the boys made their broomsticks, which were leaning unseen by any human eye against the bricks of the building, visible. 

They didn't require their broomsticks to be visible for long. In fact, it wasn't even seconds after they mounted them that the boys opted to become invisible all together, along with their flying utensils. That way, they sped through the drizzling morning unseen to their destination: a quiet cobbled street glistened with rainwater and lined with Easter egg colored lofts. A boy in a green raincoat was going from building to building, disposing newspapers from a heavy satchel. 

“Do you think Levia would have tolerated you two being late?” Pansy asked upon swinging open her door and glaring at the two boys at her door step. 

“Come on, Pansy--”

“Shut up, Theo,” growled Pansy. “And don't waste my time again. Ever.”

“Pansy we--”

“I said. Shut. Up.” Pansy repeated, more venomously if possible. She had crossed her arms now, taking her time at not letting them in. She wasn't the one getting soaked, and she had never exactly cared about anyone else before, Draco knew, and she definitely wasn't starting now. 

Draco knew exactly what had gotten into Pansy. It was the illusion of superiority. Just because she was not dealt the same bargain as them, Pansy was feeling mighty powerful. And Draco knew Pansy well enough to know that power was something she relished. It was like an addiction that she had to feed. This time it so happened that the meal came in the form of Draco and Theodore. 

“Now come in, and quickly,” she said, as if it were their choice to still be standing in the rain. “This shouldn't take too long, I hope.” 

Pansy's flat was not what Draco had expected. It was very neat, with an almost blinding amount of white furniture. It looked spacy and modern and nice...yes, Draco had not expected this in the least. Of course, he didn't expect her to live in a pastel pink loft either. He caught Pansy studying him with a very pleased expression on her face that yielded him from his current activity of looking around the place. As if he was going to let her have any more satisfaction. 

Draco raised his eyebrows, hoping to come across mostly unimpressed. “Gee, Pansy. I didn't know five year old girls were now granted architect and interior design degrees.”

“You wanker. You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you,” she jutted a finger to his chest. “You hear?”

“Why would you do that, Pansy?” Draco smirked. “I'm precious cargo now. Haven't you heard? Something about being a spy...something about planned kidnapping...something about the fact that besides us, these group of loyals have nothing going.”

“You're nothing.” Pansy disagreed. “And I could kill you right now and it wouldn't matter a damn.”

Draco knew his relationship with Pansy was left a little strained after he broke up with her in sixth year, but a death threat for a comment about the color of her house was a little extreme...even for Pansy.

“And who will do the dirty work when I'm gone?” asked Draco, looking pointedly at her. “Oh wait, I think I know...” 

Pansy shook her head, as if shaking his comment off.

“You've done well for yourself, Pansy.” Theo commented from the side, trying to break up the tension. “Really.”

“Thanks,” said Pansy drily, but Draco did not miss the split second look of elation on her face. She was eating it all up. “Now lets get to it. How are you courting your mudblood,” she looked at Draco, and then at Theo: “And your blood traitor?” 

“Wait,” Draco intervened. They were still standing in the foyer. “Couldn’t we go somewhere to sit? My legs are kind of sore from flying.”

“Do you think I give a shit about your legs, Draco?” Pansy barked. “Not as much as I care about my carpet getting wet with you filthy drenched dogs. Now answer the question.”

“Well.” Theo eagerly filled her in. “Actually, I'll be tutoring---wait no, other way around, she'll be tutoring me every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“And has she tutored you yet?” Pansy questioned.

“Well, not exactly but--”

“Moving on,” Pansy cut him off. “How about you, Draco? Do you have anything to make up for Theodore's complete and utter incompetence?”

“You need to realize that there isn't going to be results until the very end.” Draco saw the look of uncontrolled fury on Pansy's face and sought to control it: “Levia knows this. All of these weekly meetings are going to be utterly boring, I'm afraid, until the last one. Where I'll bring you, no...where Hermione will come willingly.” He hoped his look was dark enough to convince. He really was coming off more confident than he felt.

Pansy's expression soured further. “Since when are you calling her by that?”

“A good habit to develop if I'm going to get her to trust me.”

Pansy didn't look convinced, but she pressed no further. “Alright. Well, give me the details anyways. Just so we know you're making progress. I will need to hear everything, but go kind of quickly. I have a hair appointment in one hour.”

 

•••

The rest of the week leading up to Friday passed by slowly. With other thoughts preoccupying Draco, classes seemed in comparison to be of barely any importance. He couldn't help but be sucked into the vacuum of his own head during lectures, and barely found any time where he was in a good enough mood to try any homework. Still, he couldn't fail. He couldn't get kicked out by any means, so he opted to do the bare minimum. 

It really would have been kind of a shame, if Draco cared. He had always gotten great marks in all of his classes. And look how far they have gotten me, Draco thought with disgust. Nothing mattered anymore, really. Nothing but his mother.

And Granger. She mattered, no matter how hard he tried to deny that fact. She was his ticket to salvation. A ticket that could slip through his fingers at any wrong movement. She was the ledge, and he was hanging off, holding on, but barely. 

She was...early once again to detention on Friday. He heard her before he even entered the lavatories: arguing with Myrtle. Curious, Draco paused outside of the doors to listen.

“Why I can't just leave now, can I?” Granger was saying. “When it wasn't my choice to come here in the first place.”

“Why does that old hag McGonagall have to reconstruct anything, especially here? Where am I going to go now when I'm upset? This is my home more than anything else.”

“I'm sure there will be other empty rooms, Myrtle.” Granger assured her. 

“I'm sure there will be other empty rooms, Myrtle.” Myrtle mocked Granger's voice, elevating it a good three pitches. “You think I can just go somewhere else like that's so easy? Why don't you go somewhere else? For example: anywhere away from here!”

Draco thought this would be a good time to interject. He entered the toilet with quite the stir, to insure that his presence would be noted. 

“Draco!” Myrtle elatedly screeched, flying over to him. “I'm so happy to see you.” She was not happy for long. Abruptly, she frowned. “Wait. I didn't think you would be back at Hogwarts. I was sure you weren't back the fact that you didn't visit me sooner. Why didn't you visit me sooner?” By the end, she was close to tears.

“I didn’t actually get here until last week,” Draco explained tensely, all the while very aware of the curious look Granger was listening in with. “I've been catching up on school work ever since. But we can catch up now.”

He held his breath and watched for Myrtles reaction. She did not look convinced. This was a girl used to people taking advantage of her. Finally, however, she smiled shyly. “Well alright. Now, could you get rid of her?” At remembering Granger, Myrtle once again dipped in mood. 

Draco looked sideways at Granger, who was glaring at Myrtle, who was looking with adoration at Draco. This sure was a shit show. “No, Myrtle.” He finally sighed. “She stays.”

“But whyyyyy?” Myrtle whined. “You can't redecorate here! I won't allow it!”

“It'll be nicer here after we're done.” Draco tried to convince her. “Won't that be nice?”

Myrtle did look like she was listening. And she hadn't cried yet, which was surprising as it was relieving. 

“We're going to wipe down the mirrors, and paint the walls a lighter color...I really think you'll like it.” Draco continued carefully.

Myrtle pursed her translucent lips. “I don't know...”

“And you might enjoy the new company once it opens up again,” Granger, in her foolishness, joined in. 

“Company?” Myrtle screeched, flying fast at Hermione and stopping inches from her nose. “Oh that's right. Of course there will be company! All of the student body will be squeezing into here to look for old Myrtle, to pick on her, to bully her just as you did!”

And yes, the wailing had started. Bouncing off of the walls. Draco closed his eyes shut and squeezed the bridge of his nose to stop an impending headache.

“I was twelve!” Granger screamed back. “Twelve!”

“Oh don't lie, you would do it again, in a second you would do it again! Mean people stay mean!” Myrtle cried.

“Stop it,” Draco opened his eyes. “Myrtle, calm down.” 

“Me? Me calm down?” Myrtle wailed. “You're taking her side? Why are you taking her side? Why must everyone always gain up against poor Myrtle? What did I ever do to deserve it when she's such an ignorant, horrible, daft--”

Myrtle was cut off right at that moment. Draco hadn't noticed, but apparently in Myrtle's heated sobbing rant, Granger had picked up one of the paint cans (which Draco hadn't even detected,) from the floor. Granger now chucked the paint at Myrtle, stopping the ghost mid-scream, yet not drenching her. The white paint whizzed through her and created a noisy splat as it hit the opposite wall and dribbled down in loud droplets to the floor.

“Fucking hell,” breathed Draco, looking towards Granger. “You are proper insane.”

Granger set down the paint can with surprising care, all things considered.

“Crazy! Both of you are crazy!” Myrtle wildly screamed, before disappearing.

Well, Draco guessed Granger got her wish.

“Did you really have to--”

“Yeah.” Granger said. Draco, looking over at her again, noticed that she was carrying the smallest smug smile. This greatly amused him. Hermione Granger gaining self satisfaction from upsetting someone was not something he had ever seen or thought he would see. Even if that someone was a ghost. 

“That was terrible. You do know that?”

“I knew it wouldn't actually hit her.” Granger admitted. “I'm not that terrible. I just didn't see any other way she would leave.”

Well then. It was kind of genius, Draco had to give it to her.

“How are we going to clean that up without magic?” Draco asked, staring at the blob of white paint still dripping down to the floor. They weren't supposed to use magic during detention, yet Granger still took out her wand and the mess disappeared just as Myrtle had. 

Hermione Granger breaking the rules...now there was something else he thought he would never see...and as of late, he couldn't stop from being witness to it. From that day she attacked him to throwing paint at Myrtle to now breaking McGonogall's rules...yes, Granger was apparently right. A war did change some things.

“Don't look at me like that,” Granger snapped. Draco wasn't aware that he had been staring at her. “How else were we going to clean paint up? McGonogall would understand.” 

Draco turned away. “Fine. Let's get started then. I take this wall you take that one?”

“What I was thinking was one of us could outline while the other fills it in.”

“Outline?” Draco asked, turning back.

Granger rolled her eyes. “You've never painted before, have you?”

“Well, I've never exactly had to paint before. So, no.”

“Of course not,” Granger sighed. “I forgot you've barely lifted a finger in your span on this planet.”

Draco blinked a couple of times to keep his rage down. He actually forced himself to count those blinks. One. Two. Three. Oh, fuck it. 

“I try. I really try to keep my composure and--”

“Oh sod off with your composure. I'm not asking you to keep it. I'm not grateful for it. So what's the point? Oh, wait. I think I know. It's the point to everything you do: to feel good and holy about yourself.”

She would have kept going if Draco hadn't picked up the paint can and was now holding in menacingly taunt in her direction.

“If you get as much as one drop on me...” Granger warned.

“I'll say you're the one that started it,” promised Draco. “Then McGonogall will take a look to see if you've done any magic and upon seeing that you've performed the Disillusionment Charm, know I was telling the truth. Especially after Myrtle will confirm my side of things taking that she isn't too thrilled with you at the moment.”

Granger bit her lip, and straightened up, her brown eyes meeting his straight on. “You won't do it.”

Draco drew back his arms, and with it—the can of paint.

“Okay, okay fine.” Granger cried out. “Just...don't, okay?”

“As long as you stop talking about things you have the slightest knowledge about. I am trying to change, Hermione. And if you can't see it yet, then you're really not as smart as everyone says.”

“You tried to murder Dumbledore,” Granger said bravely. “You were the cause of the deaths at the end of sixth year, and you propelled the start of war that would lead only to more death. You made my life miserable for the majority of my time here, and you haven't stopped. I hate you almost as much as I don't trust you. This is the knowledge I have. This, when compared to your little meek attempts of conveying change greatly stacks up against you.”

 

“Yes, that is knowledge.” Draco agreed, setting down the paint can and sitting down next to it himself. He was suddenly extremely exhausted, and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. “Still, it is a pathetic and blurry sliver in comparison to what I know. To what I've been through.”

He opened his eyes just in time to see Granger take a seat across from him. She was flushed from their recent argument, and her hair was falling out of it's clips like always...it didn't look like she had smoothed it down this morning or whatever her new beauty regime had become. She was just so...her. It felt surreal that they were even sharing this moment together. How did things come to this, and where were they going to go next? Nothing in Draco's life was expected, not anymore. 

“We really should paint.” She changed the subject, looking anywhere but at him. 

“I'm sorry for being such a git to you at school, Hermione.” Draco said. “For that, I truly do apologize. There are excuses, but making them would not solve or take back anything I have said. But all of that other stuff...Dumbledore, the war...you and I both well know those were things bigger than me. Bigger than us, and completely out of control.”

Hermione mumbled something that Draco could not hear.

“What? Speak up, will you?”

“We are the sum of the choices we make,” Granger repeated, finally looking at him. “That's a quote I've heard. The war may have been out of control, but you still made all of the wrong choices.”

“I didn't have a choice!” Draco half yelled. “Can't you see that I've never had a choice.”

And I still don't, he wanted to add on.

And I still don't. 

4 WEEKS AGO

“So are we clear?” Levia clasped her hands together. 

Theodore and Draco nodded their heads.

“One last set of rules. Theo will arrive to Hogwarts a few days before Draco, to disperse suspicion. Each Sunday, you will report to Pansy about the progress made in the week. Each boy, whenever possible, will keep track of the other. That includes spying without the others knowledge. This is to insure everyone is obeying the rules. As for us here...we'll need every detail, every word exchanged, every look given. Understand? Finally, I'm assuming you'll be curious as to what the due date is. The council and I have agreed that this plan can be and should be accomplished by Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Theo exclaimed with little breath.“There's no way.”

Levia shot him an pissed off look. “We're not asking you to convince the girls to fall in love with you. All it takes is for them to trust you enough to take them on a broomstick ride or on a walk far enough away from Hogwarts and their friends so that you can bring them here.”

“Wouldn't kidnapping them be so much more time efficient?” Draco asked drily.

“Kidnapping them is impossible, Draco, don't be a fool.” Levia remarked. “We'll be waiting for a moment where they'll leave Hogwarts castle forever, especially that hermit girl. Even in the circumstances that one of the two leave, it's not likely that they will wander beyond the careful watching eye. Those two are more than protected everywhere they step, I assure you.”

Great, Draco thought. As if the odds of convincing Granger to trust him weren't already piled up miles above him. He had thought he would have until the end of the year, at least. Draco stored the destructive thoughts away. He still had a few questions he needed answered.

“And I'll get to see my mother is safe, correct?” He made sure.

“Yes. Every other week we will take you to her confinement and there you can confirm that everything is in order. We'll take you in a few days to see her, before you leave.”

“Good. And you want me to apparate Granger here, right? Unharmed?”

“You can harm her a little, as a reward for bringing her.” Levia's eyes glistened and her mouth spread into a smile. Draco had never seen her so happy.

“I'll bring her unharmed.” Draco said just to watch the smile falter from Levia's face. Okay, maybe not just. He really didn't want to harm anymore people if necessary. He didn't loathe Hermione Granger anymore. He didn't carry the belief system anymore and the discrimination that went with it. Sure, that didn't mean that he felt any favor towards the girl. She still was an unsustainable pretentious know-it-all. But he didn't want her dead either.

He didn't even want her hurt.

He just wanted his mother to live.

That's the way life is. Sometimes one wants two opposite things. And that's when a choice needs to be made. Draco was at least thankful that his choice was an easy one.

Draco, in that moment, had a very clear bias as to whose life was of more importance.

“Oh, and also,” Levia added on, as if everything else wasn't enough. “You two will operate as spies. This is the perfect opportunity to gain perspective on where they are weak. And once we find out where they are the weakest, that is where we can be the strongest.”


	7. Chapter 7

You always have a choice, Hermione wanted to tell him, but didn't want to come across any less empathetic than she already was. She could guess what his choices had been: to follow orders or die. And that really was almost worse than having a choice. Because in that situation—the best choice is death. Hermione didn't want to understand—she just wanted to hold onto the hate. But why? Why was she so concrete on hating Draco Malfoy?

Because, it all came back to wanting to blame someone. To wanting to point the finger and scream and yell at a physical representation of all of the wrong that had gone on in the world only four months prior.

It wasn't working though. Hermione didn't feel any better channeling her hate on the pinpoint of Malfoy. She only felt more exhausted and furious and helpless. In short, it wasn't working. She had to try a different approach. An approach that was as obvious as it was obviously difficult.

She had to forgive.

And what a hard way it was. It took Hermione a different sort of strength than any she had used before. It was an internal battle, more than anything, taking place between her pride and humility. Between her prejudice and sympathy. Between what she wanted to see, and what was actually there. She felt frigid at the thought of being kind to Malfoy, but she knew she would feel even worse if she didn't try. 

“Come on,” Hermione said, being the first to stand up. “Let's paint. I'll outline, you fill, sound good?”

Draco lifted himself to his feet. “That sounds fine.”

The tension in the room faded excruciatingly slow, but it did fade. Upon closer look, Hermione noticed that the paint was actually an extremely light pink, rather than the white she had previously thought it to be. She outlined carefully, taking her time with making sure every edge was perfect. Malfoy made childish strokes on the wall.

Hermione didn't like the idea of painting. She thought it was a huge waste of time since it could be done in seconds with the use of magic. However, she had to admit she liked the action of painting. It was relaxing just as sorting files had been. She was thankful to McGonogall for going easy on them. So far. Hermione could not forget that they had one detention left. Admittedly, it was better than three. 

Once they had finished one wall, Hermione stood back to survey their work.

“That looks...terrible..” said Hermione.

Malfoy backed up to look at his messy uneven strokes. “Amazing, it's even worse from far away.”

It seemed like they finally had found something they agreed on.

“It is actually quite impressive how horrific that is.” Hermione gave a small laugh, looking at the wall. It was all different colors and consitincies from where Malfoy tried to correct his mistakes.

Malfoy glared at her.

“Sorry.” Hermione shrugged, forcing her face into a very serious and pensive look. “Honestly, it really doesn't matter. We're not getting graded for it.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “By that logic, most of the things in life don't matter. Unless you get graded on eating and sleeping, in which case, I'm deeply surprised.”

“I was just trying to make you feel better for having the artistic skills of an elephant.” 

“Those things are trained to paint,” said Malfoy. “A perfectly unfair advantage.”

Hermione didn't argue there. 

Malfoy swerved his icy eyes towards her, but Hermione could swear she could see them thawing. The blue-grey suddenly did not remind her of the cold, but of something else. Something that could almost be nice to look at. “

So,” he said. “Do we move on to the next wall?”

“Okay.” said Hermione. “Just try and follow a straight line this time.”

And he did, well, mostly. It was an improvement, anyways. They had finished the second wall in half of the time it had took to complete the first. This time, as they stood back to survey their progress, there was an air of mutual satisfaction of having completed a task. 

Begining to work on their third wall, Hermione decided to let Draco know something. “I told them, by the way. Harry and Ron, I mean. About what you said.”

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy was bent over, sloshing paint onto his roller. 

“Yeah,” Hermione finished off one edge, and began to move up the wall with her thin brush. “....thank you for telling me. No matter how much I didn't want to hear it, it was...important.”

Malfoy stood up straight, beginning to coat the wall in long lazy strokes. “I'm glad you told them.”

“It's not really serious, is it?” said Hermione. “The left over death eaters are just a small precentage. Nothing like before, right?”

“No, nothing like before.” Malfoy agreed, his face screwed up in a painful expression. “Still, I thought you should know. Just in case.”

Hermione painted the rest of the third wall in silence as she thought. She had so many questions she wanted to ask. For today, all of her hot anger had melted into an even hotter curiosity. She was less angry at why Malfoy was trying to change, and more curious as to why he was trying to change. What had changed to make him change? Hermione was going dizzy in trying to come up with probable possibilities. 

She came so close to asking so many times, opening and closing her mouth, but she was already angry with the answer he was going to give her. Or maybe not give her at all. So far, Malfoy's reasons had been diluted and murky—the excuses too automatic, as if he had practiced in the mirror. What Hermione wanted was the truth—raw and powerful, something that would hit her, something that could finally make her understand. 

She thought of Ginny, and her tutoring sessions with Theodore Nott this week that had gone great, according to her friend. Why was Ginny forgiving so easy? Hermione took a glance at Malfoy and was provided with the answer in this: because Theodore Nott to Ginny was not Draco Malfoy to Hermione. 

Malfoy turned his head slightly to meet Hermione's eyes. “Think this wall's done?”

They stood back to ponder at it. It was.

Painting the fourth wall, Hermione could not pinpoint what she was feeling. Anger? No. Confusion? A little. Regret? More than she wanted to admit...But she felt like there was a big one that she couldn't put a finger on. Hermione did not do well with not understanding, so she painted the wall fast. Her arms were starting to ache, and they were on the wall lined with toilets, which was about as much fun as she had imagined. 

“Besides painting, did the Headmistress say we had to do anything else?” Hermione asked once they had finished and were washing their hands. 

Malfoy met her eyes in the mirror. “She didn't.”

“Oh, good.” Hermione shut off the tap, and straightened out her shirt, making way for her bag which she had deposited in the corner of the room. She didn't know exactly how to say goodbye, so she was kind of hoping he would leave altogether without having to suffer through being cordial to each other. Were they on good terms? Did he think she had forgiven him? Had she forgiven him?

Apparently, however, they weren't exactly through here. Not if Myrtle could help it. Hermione had not seen Myrtle enter back into the room, she hadn't even expected it. But she heard her alright. Loud and clear.

“Thank you, for that,” Myrtle sniffled. “Thank you so much, Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione turned around just in time to see Malfoy's face form into a frown. “What are you on about?”

“Isn't it obvious?” exclaimed Myrtle through the tears. “I'm thanking you for showing me why you haven't visited! I'm so glad I know why! It's because of her,” at this, Myrtle swiveled her blotchy face towards Hermione. “Because you like someone else now!”

“Myrtle, I think you have the wrong idea--” Hermione said quickly at the same time as Malfoy said--  
“--just to make it clear, there are no feelings between anyone here.”

“Don't lie!” screamed Myrtle, in hysterics. “I was watching you the entire time through that wall there! Watching the way you've been making eyes at each other! It's disgusting. Vile!” 

Making eyes at each other? Hermione admittedly realized she might have crept a few peeks at Malfoy, but that was only to size him up. Similar to a look like one might use while studying a certain nasty potion. Just to think that her look might have even come off as anything other than that...

“I don't need to hear this,” Hermione stated with the realization, stomping off towards the door.

Myrtle swung herself sideways to block Hermione's path of way. “You vile slag! You horrible, horrible--”

Hermione did not linger around to hear the rest. She had walked around Myrtle, and slammed the door shut with a bang behind her, cutting off the hysteric ghost. 

No wonder Malfoy liked Mrytle. They probably had bonded over their shared hatred of Hermione. Perhaps they even started a club. 

Hermione was on the staircase up to the Gryffindor tower when she identified Rory's long brown hair a few people in front of her. Shoving past those couple of people as gracefully as she could, Hermione caught up with Ginny's good friend. 

Rory took one look at Hermione and said: “I can pretty much guess where you've just came from.”

Hermione was catching her breath. Luckily, Rory did not mind filling in the gaps of conversation all on her own.

“The Hogsmeade dates were posted while you were painting,” Rory filled Hermione in. “It's next Saturday. Are you still coming with me and Gin?”

“I think so,” said Hermione, her breath still a bit short. 

“Ginny's so excited about seeing Harry that I miss hearing her talk about Quidditch.” Rory grumbled. “Couples, right?”

Hermione couldn't help but imagine how she would feel right now if she were still dating Ron. Would she be excited? She really wasn't too thrilled now, if she was honest with herself. After their breakup, Ron hardly wrote back to her letters at all, and when he did bother to pick up a quill, his answers were short and diluted of any substance. It upset Hermione a great deal. It was one thing losing a boyfriend, but losing Ron as a best friend was something that hurt Hermione too much to think about. 

They finally made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who arched an eyebrow in question. The Fat Lady had been especially suspicious lately, as last week a Ravenclaw boy had sneaked in to see his Gryffindor girlfriend in her dormitories. And here Hermione thought Ravenclaw's used their wit for good. Sneaking into a girlfriends dormitory was a rather Slytherin thing to do, in her opinion. Anyways, the Fat Lady now had taken to switching the password every couple of days to prevent future star-crossed love affairs.

“Fizzing Whizbees,” said Hermione confidently.

The Fat Lady gave her such an impressed look as she let them in, that Hermione figured she was one of the first ones to get it right all day. 

xxx

Y'all leaving kudos but no reviews. That makes a writer soul sad indeed. :(


	8. Chapter 8

That Sunday, Draco got up early once again, this time to visit his mother. 

Theodore went along to visit his sister respectively. 

Levia led the two boys down one of the wings of her mansion. Theodore's sister was on the first door to the right, Draco's mother the second. Both doors had to be unlocked by Levia with complicated wand work. Draco entered skeptical and unsure, but all of that washed away as his mother bolted towards him for an embrace. He breathed relief into her hair, which smelled like the shampoo she had used when he was a little boy. 

Levia stood in the corner of the room, the corner of her eyes on them as Draco and his mother took a seat on the bed. His mother reached out to hold his hands in hers, and shot Levia a cold look. “Please, Levia.”

Levia, with a meaningful look towards her direction, left them alone.

“Mother--”

“Draco, please,” said his mother. “Be careful with your tongue. She may have left, but who knows who else may be listening.”

“I was just going to say how good it is to see you.” said Draco honestly.

“Oh, my boy--”

Draco turned his head away sharply when her hand touched his cheek. Abruptly, he stood up and began to pace. 

“Draco, stop it. I can't take it!” said his mother. “Please, sit down.”

“What? They let me visit and I can't even talk to you?” Draco said bitterly. 

“I understand you're angry--”

“Just a little,” laughed Draco darkly. 

“Come here, it's okay, it'll be okay.”

Draco turned helplessly to face his mother and took a good look at her for the first time. Her hair was limp in a flat braid, and this was one of the first times he had seen her without makeup. Truly without makeup: no expensive facial cream nor anti aging serum in vicinity. She looked at least fifteen years older, and as if the most she had slept was one night in these two weeks. 

“Are they treating you well?” asked Draco hotly.

“Yes, they are. No one harms me, if that's what you're asking. And they get me the shampoo and conditioner I order. The food is adequate, and I even have a window. I'm very lucky.”

There was no sarcasm in her tone. Draco, for the first time in his life, felt pity for his mother.

“You deserve better.” he said. 

“My dear son,” she patted the bed next to her, “sit down, if you will?”

Draco contemplated the space next to her with distress. Eventually though, he gave in. His mother immediately began smoothing back his hair in comforting wispy strokes. This must be the only human contact she's had in so long, realized Draco with a drop of heart. 

“Do you know my mission?” Draco asked.

At this, his worn down looking mother held up a thin pale finger to silence him from continuing. Draco watched with a contracted brow as she reached over to her night stand, extracting from it a quill and some parchment. Smoothing over the parchment on her legs, Draco's mother bent over and began scribbling.

She handed the piece of paper over to him once she was finished: Don't talk, writing is safer. Erase with wand after you're done. I don't know the mission. Tell me.

Draco opened his mouth and then remembering the quill and parchment, wrote. 

Have to kidnap Hermione Granger. Know her?

Draco's mother nodded at her side. Draco continued.

They're planning to use her as leverage. 

Draco wasn't done writing, but his mother thought otherwise. She practically ripped the sheet away from him and tugged at the quill with a desperate look in her eyes. Draco weakly gave it to her. His mother wrote for quite some time before shoving her work back in his hands. She watched him carefully as he read.

Draco, don't do it. I can't bear to be the reason for anymore blood on your hands. There's been enough. It's not worth it. Tell someone. Tell McGonagall, tell the ministry--please, if you love me. TELL SOMEONE.

Draco, with panic, looked up at his own mothers desperate eyes. She nodded vigorously and mouthed the word, “please.”

Draco was just about to say something when the door crashed open with a deafening bang. Then, someone strong was grabbing Draco by his arms, and lifting him off the bed.

Draco swiveled his face around and attempted to rip his arms free. But the loyal that was holding him now was Stump, and despite his lanky size he was stronger than he appeared. 

“No!” Draco shouted. “Let me go, I swear--”

Changing tactics, Draco attempted to kick out with his legs, therefore loosening Stump's hold on him, and using this opportunity to reach for the wand in his trouser pockets. His fingers just skimmed the edge of it before he was knocked on the side of the head with something powerful. 

All too quickly, Levia was standing in front of him. She had just smacked him, and was massaging her own hand from the sting. The room swam in front of Draco, but he still was around enough to focus in on what Levia was saying: “Plotting against us, not a smart move Narcissa. Really, not a smart move.”

Draco was removed from the room.

***

First thing Monday morning at breakfast, Granger approached him. She looked as shocked with herself as she did a little wave to get his attention as he was when he saw her. She must have been waiting for quite some time, Draco realized, as he was running rather late. Granger wore the coined frustrated look she typically greeted him.

“I was just wondering what our next task is.” she said with a sort of dignified tone.

“Actually, I haven't had the chance to contact McGonagall about it quite yet,” Draco watched her face carefully as he said the next part. He certainly didn’t want to miss her reaction to this: “but you could come with me now to ask, if you'd like.”

Not to Draco's surprise, Granger looked absolutely scandalized. “Come with you?”

“I think that was what I said, yes.”

“Well.” she said carefully. “I suppose I do have a minute.”

“Just the one?” Draco raised his eyebrows.

Granger didn't look amused. “Wait here. I want to make sure McGonagall isn't in there.”

With that, he watched her peek her curly head into the Great Hall.

Granger turned back to him with a look of great disappointment. As they both clearly knew what this meant, they began walking. A couple of students trickling into breakfast as late as Draco gave the pair of them curious looks over their shoulders as they neared the staircases.

“So,” said Draco lightly. “How are you liking your classes?”

“They're wonderful,” said Granger immediately, “Transfiguration is really something else this year and now that we're moving into modern Wizarding History it's so fascinating--” She broke off, and averted her eyes quickly, looking extremely embarrassed. She cleared her throat. “They're fine.” She finished lamely. “What about you?”

“Not as exciting as yours, it would seem.” smirked Draco. “I do agree on Modern History being heaps more exciting though.”

“You do?” She said, failing to hide her excitement once again.

Draco was besides himself with his own amusement. “That's not a revolutionary statement to make, Granger.” Sometimes he couldn't help but slip up and call her by her surname. She was just so Granger. “Any dim wit with a half a brain would agree, I bet.”

“Well,” said Granger. “It's not exactly as if anyone is scrambling to get in line to discuss History with me.”

She hadn't meant it to be, he was sure, but Draco was hit with how depressing that statement was. Draco knew that the gang she associated herself with was certainly not known for their sparkling wit. But with a brain like hers, it really was a shame...

“Can I ask you a question?” said Draco. Granger looked skeptical, so Draco asked anyways, before she cold say no: “Why do you study so hard?”

“Because it's important, of course.” she said it as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth.

The staircase they were currently taking shifted unreasonably, throwing them off track. Draco and Granger both groaned and scrambled to catch another one before it could escape them.

“But what's the point when hardly anyone around is intelligent enough to appreciate it?”

Granger was speaking in-between breaths now, as she was taking the steps two at a time. Draco was inclined to believe she was trying to get this ordeal over with as quickly possible. “Well then—it's a good thing—I don't do it for anyone but—myself.”

“It just seems like an utter waste of time--”

“--Well it's not!” She cut him off, and the conversation was over.

Draco fell behind a few steps, watching the way her curly hair swished rhythmically along the back of her robes. Even from the back, he could tell her breathing was heavy. And he didn't think it came to be that way just from the argument. Walking behind a girl on a staircase also made a boy want to look other places than her upper back, but Draco repressed that urge. He hated himself for even having it.

“Have you ever read in one of your big books that regular exercise does wonders for the cardiovascular system?” said Draco as he caught up with her just in time to see the irritability return to her face.

“I do exercise.” she said defiantly. 

“Yeah,” snorted Draco as they finally rounded the corner to where the headmistresses office was, “running from one class to the next.”

Granger shook her head in disagreement as they neared the large flamboyant doors of the office. With one last disdainful look in his direction, she knocked.

McGonagall took her time in answering, leaving Draco and Granger trapped outside of her doors. Granger was trying her best to seemingly wipe off annoyance from her face while Draco attempted to look far less entertained than he oddly felt at this moment. Both were failing miserably.

Finally, McGonagall did answer. However, the look she had on almost steered them running right back where they came from.

“Oh, wonderful,” the headmistress commented. “Just the two people I want to see together on a Monday morning.”

Granger was taken aback in offense, but Draco knew that McGonagall's ill temper was mostly directed at his being there. If Granger had come alone, he was sure McGonagall would have invited her favorite student in for tea.

“We really do apologize,” Granger stumbled over her words, a blush staining her cheeks. “Sorry. Really. We were just wondering what our last task might be?”

“Oh, yes. That's right.” McGonagall said, as if just remembering. “Lets see. How would you feel about decorating the grounds for Halloween?”

“The entire castle?” Granger asked with wide eyes.

“No, don't be silly Miss Granger. Just the outside area's should do.” McGonagall said tartly. “Unless, of course, distributing five hundred lit pumpkins twenty feet high in the Great Hall sounds like a grand time?”

Granger's cheeks were deepening in shade. “N-no, that's fine. Thank you, Headmistress.”

McGonagall's gaze softened, just slightly. “If you don't mind, McGonagall is what I have always preferred to be called.”

“Thank you,” Draco bowed slightly. 

“Great.” McGonagall returned to her crisp tone. “Now, this time it would be better for you to arrive right after your last class. Decorating in the dark seems impractical. Say around three thirty, then? That'll leave you enough time to change, I imagine. I'll leave some supplies out at the back entrance of the castle.”

Granger stared at the door for a couple of beats after McGonagall promptly shut it. Her look was one of pure shock. 

“I have never seen McGonagall in such a foul mood,” Granger was saying as they made their way back down the steps.

“You're kidding,” said Draco.

“Well at least towards me she hasn't,” clarified Granger. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

And then, out of nowhere, came the sudden realization. They were still walking together. This time, there was no destination; no reason at all for staying in similar pace. But what surprised him more was the fact that she hadn't ran away yet.

He had no sooner thought that when Granger noticeably began speeding up her gait. He couldn't make out her expression, but she was sure to be in a panic at having realized what he had only a second before. 

“It's a shame there's no toilets in the near locality to escape to.” said Draco dryly.

Granger shot him a backwards look. “Uh yeah, so I guess I'll just see you on Friday.” 

What he did next came impulsively without thought. Clearly without thought, as what he did was grab out a hand to clasp around her arm before she could evade him. At the contact, Granger jumped away, and in doing this of course nearly stumbled down the stairs if it wasn't for his hand still squeezed around her bicep. After gaining stable footing, she ripped herself free and jumped back flat against the wall, glaring up at him and breathing heavily through her nose.

“Merlin, calm down.” covered Draco smoothly. “No need to fall to your death over that.”

He, himself, didn't exactly know what that was. All he knew was that he wanted her to feel what he did. If he couldn't escape no matter how much he wanted to, then neither should she.

“Don't touch me.” She said clearly. “Just don't.”

He laughed blackly. “Me? Touch you? Don't embarrass yourself.”

Granger flushed with red, anger or hurt, Draco could not tell.

He almost said something else as she finally made her flee down the stairs a success. Almost shouted out as she rounded the corner in haste. Almost.

Instead, Draco stood for quite some time in the middle of the staircase, and did nothing. 

 

***

 

Leading up to Friday, Granger noticeably ignored Draco more than usual. Which was saying a lot.

In their sole class together: Defense Against the Dark Arts, she made it a point to stare blankly at a wall as he performed his fox Patronus. On his way back to his seat, Draco overheard Dean Thomas mutter to Granger: “A fox? Bit girly if you ask me.” But when he angrily looked over to Granger for her reaction, she had none. Granger simply stared ahead, now watching with rapt attention at the next Patronus performer: Rory Lidell. 

Draco was angry, he admit it to himself. Why was she so scandalized by that fucking arm grab? He really was just trying to have a conversation with her. Was she scared of him?

Was that what it was?

On his way out of Defense Against the Dark Arts that day, Draco was not watching where he was going and nearly bumped into Astoria Greengrass again, swerving out of the way just in time. 

Astoria, who was at least a foot shorter than he was, tentatively fixed her great big blue eyes up at him and laughed: “We just keep bumping int each other, don't we?”

“What?” said Draco distractedly, brushing past her. “Oh yeah. Excuse me, sorry.”  
***

When Friday came around, Draco didn't know what to expect at detention, so he settled for the worst. It was three-fifteen when he arrived at the front of the castle steps, but Granger, for the first time, was not early. He checked his watch just as the long hand moved to 3:31. She was late. 

Not one minute later, however, Granger came jogging breathlessly down. She was not coming down the steps from the castle though, but from the path opposite the main building.

“And where have you been?” asked Draco unhappily.

“Hagrids,” she breathed. “Sorry—he made me—late.” She bent over to catch her breath, and mumbled something incoherently of which Draco only caught the words “rock cakes” from. But that was enough of an explanation for him. He looked in annoyance down the path to where Hagrids hut lay beyond the trees. Hagrid was not Draco's favorite erm—peron-giant. 

So she was speaking to him fine now, meaning she must have been over the staircase hold up. Draco was, for lack of better words, relieved. His plan was over the roadblock, and he could proceed smoothly. 

He lightly kicked the ground next to him, bringing Granger's attention down to where all of their supplies were messily laid out. There were monster pumpkins, easily double their weight. There were fake bats attached onto twinkling orange streamers that wiggled. There were skeleton heads that laughed and spider webs that were easily six feet long. And they were all laying at the ground near their feet, almost vibrating with anticipation at being hung up.

“I can't believe this is detention,” Granger said, her face lighting up. “McGonagall certainly has been feeling generous, hasn't she?”

Draco really couldn't either. They had lucked out, that was for certain. On the other hand, there were some down sides.

Draco picked up a giant wiggling worm. “And what are we supposed to do with these?” 

Granger made a face. “Bury them back where they came from.”

Draco winced as the wet scaly worm tried to wring itself out of his grasp. “Merlin.” He moved on to the bat streamers. The black flying rodents snapped their wings in fury. “Who comes up with this shit?”

“These pumpkins” Granger said, her eyes darting between the many four foot giants. “Surely, McGonagall doesn't expect us to carve all of them.”

Draco shifted his gaze to a some large knives and ladles next to the pumpkins. “I think that's exactly what she expects.” he commented with clear distaste. 

Granger plopped herself down on the grass, picking with care a butcher knife. Draco backed up a few feet, and made sure the spot of grass he sat himself on wasn't wet or especially dirty. He pulled a knife towards him, and looked at Granger expectantly. 

“Well, here goes nothing.” She shrugged, holding the knife taunt. And then more to herself than to him muttered: “Last detention. Let's get this over with.”

Draco stabbed his pumpkin with his knife.

When he pulled the knife out with difficulty, Granger was gawking at him. “Have you ever--”

“--No. I haven't.” Draco said, looking pensively at his stab wound to the great orange beast.

“Well that's not exactly--”

“--Yeah,” Draco said. “I see that now.” 

“And you couldn't have just asked?” Granger was now looking close to laughter.

“I didn't think there would be a method to this madness.” said Draco. 

“You don't know how to paint or carve a pumpkin?” said Granger. “What kind of a person are you?”

“One who had a good childhood.” said Draco.

“Alright, alright.” Granger scooted over to him, and pulled the knife carefully from his hand. Still, the generous distance she kept was in no doubt deliberate. “First, you have to cut open the top...”

Draco watched as she chiseled away with the butcher knife, her face screwed up with concentration. It couldn't have been easy, not with a pumpkin that size.

“Okay,” she said, leaning back on her haunches and pulling free the top with a loud squelch. Bits of pumpkin insides flew in their general direction, and they recoiled to prevent any from spraying on their robes. 

“And then,” continued Granger, reaching over for the ladle and offering it to him. “Just empty the insides, and you're good to go.” 

“That's a lot of insides,” Draco commented, sounding less than enthused. 

Granger sighed. “I'm afraid I spoke too soon about this detention being generous.”

She really did. The detention turned out to be many things but generous. It was really pointless of them to have recoiled from the pumpkin shards, because by the end, their hands were stained orange and seeds were places seeds were not supposed to be. Despite trying to keep his pumpkins as simple as possible to prevent any unnecessary extra exertion, Draco's hands were burning from carving through the thick exterior. He couldn't imagine how Granger felt—she had carved complicated looking cats on some of hers. 

She truly never missed a chance to show off, did she?

Next, they split up to hang up bat streamers and spider webs and distribute various knickknacks along the castle walls and random trees. They couldn't use magic, of course, so moving the pumpkins was out of the question. Cleaning up seemed nearly impossible too—so they left all of that be, hoping McGonagall would have mercy on their poor pumpkin crusted hands.

Draco worked along with the sunset, the orange streamers illuminating more and more the darker it got. By the time they reunited back at the castle, it was nearly eight. The pumpkins had been moved, now decorating the sides of the main path. Each had lights illuminating from their mouths and eyes, or in Granger's case—cat bodies. It created a nice ambiance, he had to admit. The orange glow lighting up the path and casting long shadows. 

He smelt the dinner from inside the castle, and his stomach lurched. Steamed pork and scalloped potatoes never smelt so appetizing. Granger was peering towards the castle with a far away look in her eyes, seemingly matched in hunger.

“So that's it then,” she turned back to him with clear force of will. “I suppose we've finished, haven't we?”

“Looks like it.” Draco agreed. 

Three beats of silence.

An awkward clear of the throat.

Granger stepped towards the castle. “Okay, well, goodbye then.”

Draco didn't say anything, but watched as she left. He stood there for a good minute, until he felt someone at his side.

“Been watching us, have you?” Draco asked Theo.

Theo gave an apologetic glance. “You know the rules...or do you? I've noticed you haven't been watching me and Ginny on our tutoring sessions.”

“Let's not and say we did,” said Draco tensely.

“I don't know, Draco...” said Theo. “Those are the rules.”

“I know those are the bloody rules!” snapped Draco. “But they won't find out, will they?”

“Draco, I really don't know about this....we should be careful. We should do what they say.”

“Fine. Whatever.” said Draco, but really he was more irked than he was letting on.

Granger was his project. Not in the sense that he owned her, or had any right over her as a human being. But in the sense that he was given Granger and Theo was given Ginny. And to have Theo watching his every move with Granger...put Draco on edge. It escalated the pressure that much more. It made the job that much harder to do. It was not necessary for Merlins sake!

Theo made a noise in his throat behind him. “So what comes next? I mean, now that the detention days are over and all...”

Draco turned a scolding face towards Theo, who shrunk back immediately. “Don't you have somewhere else to be, Nott? If you couldn't tell, Granger has left. You need not be here any longer.”

“You can be a real prick, you know that Draco?” Theo said, his voice high. 

But Theo left all the same.

The sun was fully down now, but Draco still had not moved an inch.

The truth of it was, he had no idea what was next.

Three weeks had escaped him without much progress.

And that thought paralyzed him. 

xxx

Reviews make me so so so happy :) thank you guys for your response and I hope it continues into the future. I love writing this story and I love knowing that you guys love it too :) so don't be shy. 

Btw quick plug here for my tumblr:

petulant-thoughts.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione made it to the great hall at the highpoint of supper. And taking that it was the Friday night before Hogsmeade weekend, the students were even more boisterous than usual. Hands were reaching every which way across the tables, a group of Hufflepuffs were singing some kind of good natured chant in the corner, and even the Slytherins all had grins on their faces for one reason or another. And Hermione, for the first time since the whole detention ordeal began, felt herself matched in the elation with the rest of Hogwarts.

Relieved and catching a whiff of burnt custard pie, Hermione was owner to a stupid smile as she neared the Gryffindor table. Almost immediately, a space was formed between Ginny and Rory to let Hermione squeeze in. Both girls sported red cheeks and nearly empty plates. Hermione didn't waste any time filling her own plate once it had materialized in front of her, and she drank two full goblets of cranberry juice before tuning into the conversation around her.

Romilda Vane was leading the topic with an especially coy expression on her face: “And now that we're practically all old enough, I'm willing to bet we can finally make it into Suzannes Shop.”

Hermione recognized the name, and flushed. Suzannes Shop was at the very furthest corner of Hogsmeade, and was known for having items not appropriate for anyone under the ages of seventeen. Which reminded her... “Romilda,” said Hermione. “I thought you were only sixteen?”

Romilda swiveled her dark brown eyes to Hermione's light ones. “Come on, try not to ruin other people's fun for once in your life, would you?”

“Hermione's right and you know it.” broke in Ginny at once. 

Romilda, however, did not appear to be phased. “You guys are silly. I would go in a group of older students, of course. Suzanne wouldn't know the difference—nor would she care. She, like me, thinks that sexuality is natural--” at this, a few younger students heads turned sharply in her direction, but Romilda paid them no mind, “--and something that should be embraced.”

“Oh yeah?” said Ginny. “So does that mean that any other third year should be able to go around embracing their sexuality?”

Romilda ran a hand through her long black hair and shrugged. “You lot are ridiculous, like, get progressive already. We're not twelve years old anymore, and some of us don't want to act like children forever. And we don't have to.”

Hermione ate her chicken pot-pie in silence, but felt uneasy. Moments like this made her admit even to herself how prudish she really was. She wished she could talk about things like this without growing shades redder, but try hard as she did, the heat never left her face. In a way, she envied Romilda, who was now turned to her best friend, Cathy, talking about a sex shop in the same nonchalant way as one might talk about the weather. 

Thankfully, Ginny was fast in changing the subject. “Honestly, I'm just excited for some authentic butter-beer. Bottled just isn't as good, I don't care what anyone says.”

“When has anyone ever said that bottled is better?” asked Rory. “That's right; never.”

“Actually,” said Hermione, thankful to be on a subject she could safely contribute to. “It's exactly the same.” 

Ginny and Rory both looked at Hermione like she had just committed a felony.

“What? It is. People only think the authentic or whatever one is better because of the placebo effect, when really it's the same thing only in a bottle rather than a glass. Not to mention the atmosphere you're drinking it in—of course it's going to presumably taste better in a cafe with friends in front of a fireplace rather than while alone and doing homework.”

Hermione looked around at all of the blank faces directed at her.

“And you guys try and say she doesn't suck all of the fun from the room.” Romilda mumbled.

xxx

The next day, all bundled in layers, Hermione, Ginny, and Rory made their way down to Hogsmeade. Hermione couldn't help but still be thinking about what Romilda had said the night previous.

Do I really suck all of the fun out of a room? Hermione wanted to ask Ginny or Rory, but didn't want to ruin their moods. Besides, she was afraid of what their answers might be. Would they flat out lie to her and try to console her about how great she was? Or would they gently break it to her that yes, she was about as dry as a biscuit that's been setting out for a week? Both outcomes depressed Hermione thoroughly, hence she kept her mouth shut.

It was true: she was proud of who she was. She prided herself on having an array of amiable characteristics—she was smart, she knew that much by now, and what more is that she cared very much for her friends and family, and hoped to come across as so. She even considered herself to be true Gryffindor brave. But being fun? Hermione sensed that she came across about as much of a riot as Professor McGonagall.

Was she wasting her teenage years in books rather than living them out in the flesh? Now that the war was over, she could let go a little bit, couldn't she? At least, she should try...

Shouldn't she?

She wanted to ask Ginny and Rory about Suzannes Shop, if they had ever been in or even heard of what was inside, but bit her tongue once again. Hermione got hot enough in the face just thinking about it. If she wanted to know, she would have to ask someone else. As unlikely as that was, it was even more unlikely that circumstances would allow her to wander in there herself. Maybe not knowing was better, Hermione decided.

In any case, if she even was to step in there, Hermione was too inexperienced to even know where most of the things did....or where they went. With a self-serving shake of the head, Hermione decided to not to devote anymore time to thinking about Suzanne or her Shop filled with...whatever it was filled with.

“Hermioneeee,” Rory sang, extending a fist to tap against Hermione's head. “Knock, knock, anybody home?”

“Sorry,” apologized Hermione, suddenly pulled from her inner monologue.

They had come to the wooden sign that read 'Hogsmeade,' and were now met with a stream of students going every which way, all looking pleased as can be. A sixth year girl brushed past them, talking animatedly about some new shop that held designer robes to her friend, who was only half devoting her attention to listening while using the other half to suck on a flavor changing lollipop.

“Alright then,” Ginny directed, clasping her friends in front of her in a business-like manner and turning to face Hermione and Rory as if she were the Sargent and they were her Comrades. “We're meeting the boys at The Three Broomsticks at—three o'clock, wow, perfect.” 

Hermione looked at her own watch to find that Ginny was right: it was ten to three. Perfect indeed.

“As much as I'd love to be the fifth wheel,” said Rory, lingering behind. “I think I might go to Honeydukes and celebrate single life with a crate of chocolate frogs and my lonely woman tears.”

Hermione quite liked to take that idea for herself. Rory must have been forgetting that Hermione was just as single as her...everyone had been forgetting that lately. It was as if the general public only saw Hermione's and Ron's breakup as temporary...which it might just be, but it was frustrating to have people be so assured about her love life. 

Ginny looped an arm through Hermione's. “Just us then, we'll see you at the Hogshead tonight, right?”

“Sounds great!” Rory called, already hurrying down a street leading to Honeydukes.

Hermione wistfully watched her go.

The Three Broomsticks was packed tight, but the spot of the most concentration was where they found Harry and Ron. A crowd was unsurprisingly surrounding them, listening with ramp attention at some comment Ron was making. Hermione was thankful she didn't have to be the subject of such attention at school. She guessed that her novelty wore off about the second week of Hogwarts, if it was ever there. Apparently, she just wasn't as engrossing as either of the boys. 

When Harry saw Ginny though, it didn't matter that there was approximately the population of a small country surrounding them. By the way he looked at her, Hermione almost believed that Ginny was the only person in the room. Hermione was mortified to see that Ron had a similar expression on his face when looking at her.

Getting up, the boys exchanged hugs with Ginny and Hermione each. Hermione timed so that each hug lasted the same amount of time on each of the boys.

Harry kept his arm around Ginny as they sat down on the couches. Ron, on quite the opposite hand, kept a stiff distance from Hermione, extremely engrossed with a string on the arm of the duvet.

There was a steady amount of silence as everyone took each other in.

Hermione noticed Harry had acquired a great deal of stubble as he started talking. “Well this is weird. What do normal people talk about if it isn't deadly secrets?”

“I don't know—not deadly secrets?” said Ginny, smiling broadly. She had not stopped beaming since they had sat down.

“Actually,” Hermione hated to be the person to lower her voice. “Just one little thing, I swear.” With a look around to ensure that everyone had their own conversations going on, she continued: “I hate to mention this again—but that thing that Malfoy told me, about your safety. You're taking precautions, right?”

Hermoine was less than thrilled at steering the topic this way, especially on their first meeting. But she couldn't help it—really, she couldn't. She really did suck the fun out of a room, didn't she?

“Woah, keeping it lighthearted as always aren't you, Hermione?” Harry laughed, but Hermione did not find humor in this. It hit too close to home.“Yes, we're taking it seriously. Although I'm not taking anything that git says as gospel. What I'm more interested in though,” he angled his body towards Ginny, “is the tutoring deal you've got going on with Theodore Nott.”

“I told you,” Ginny said, as if it were the most simple notion in the world. “I'm just trying to close this little gap called prejudice.”

“Well that is very noble of you,” said Harry fondly. 

Ron stopped picking the strand of string in order to roll his eyes with great drama. “It's not called prejudice when that person is a complete arse. I don't know why you would even waste time on him, Gin. People like him don't change. They just don't.”

Hermione reached for some peanuts, grabbing a handful from the small glass bowl on the coffee table. Popping one in her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully, trying to mentally place herself on the black and white spectrum between the noble and hopeful Ginny and the stubborn stuck-in-his ways Ron.

What side did she gravitate towards?

The answer came to her with a stark shock, because it was an answer very different from one she would have given a month ago. 

“Speaking of complete arses...” Ron continued, but directed himself at Hermione. “I heard about your detentions with Malfoy. As if the shock of hearing your name in the same sentence as detention wasn't enough to send me into full cardiac arrest, Malfoy added into that sentence just about sealed the deal.”

Hermione shrugged but didn’t answer. If Ron was really so curious he could have written her himself instead of relying to 'hear about' it from Harry. Besides, she didn't like the tone he had taken up: bitter, exasperated, judgmental. Ron Weasely! Judgmental of her!

“No seriously,” Ron just wouldn't let up. “If they put me in detention with that ferret, I would have dropped out on the spot.”

“Or gotten expelled for attempted murder,” Harry added on, reaching for a handful of peanuts.

Hermione, weirdly frustrated beyond reason couldn't help but quickly say: “He's not that bad, really.”

Ron full out glared at her and even Harry gave her an apprehensive look as Hermione shoved a handful of peanuts into her mouth and chewed furiously. What did she have to go and defend Malfoy for? Especially in front of Harry and Ron...

Harry, cleared his throat uncomfortably and faced Ginny once again, squeezing her shoulder. He was clever in switching the topic. “How's Quidditch?”

“I wrote to you all about it!” exclaimed Ginny. “What more could you possibly want to know?”

“Everything.” 

And the couple fell into such easy seamless conversation that it was nearly impossible for Hermione nor Ron to get a word in, even if they tried. 

After a couple of minutes, as it dawned on them that they were outcast from the happy couple, Ron hissed to Hermione: “We need to talk.”

Hermione shifted in her seat. 

“I know,” she sighed, and with a look around the full capacity of the cafe clarified: “not here.” 

Outside, it was much better, and they settled around a small picnic table and some chairs outside of Dominic Maestro's Music Shop. Here, they were able to gain privacy by being obscured by an old wizard in striped pants playing a banjo, who stole most of the attention of passerby’s.

Ron cleared his throat, and with one last look around, began the topic Hermione was dreading. “I don't really know what to say. I've thought about it too much, and I still can't settle on the right way to go about it...so I guess what I really want to know is, have you given it—us--much thought since, you know?”

“Of course I have.” Hermione answered immediately. “I think about you nearly ever day.”

She had done as she promised. When she broke things off with him, she used the cliched trope; the cheesy line: I just need some time to myself. Time to think. And she had.

She was not lying. Everyday she had.

But she would be lying if she said she had gotten any closer to a conclusion. If anything, she had gotten farther away from one. It was like everyday she was growing more and more unsure about the prospect of them as a couple.

“And?” Ron prompted hopefully.

Hermione cast her eyes downward in guilt, and in that, Ron had his answer.

“Right,” he said briskly. “Okay.”

“Ron—I'm sorry it's just that--”

Hermione reached a hand out to clasp his, but he pulled away faster than she would have thought possible.

“Yeah, you should be sorry.” said Ron nastily. “You led me on for Merlin knows how long just to toss me aside and want even more time? Frankly, I'm sick of it. I refuse to be dragged by your leash any longer. Yes, or no. Answer now, Hermione, because I swear, you're never going to have the chance again.”

Hermione couldn't help it. Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, sucking in a shaky breath. “I can't.”

Her voice was desperate, pleading. The last thing Hermione wanted was to lose Ron completely. Or even a little bit. She cherished their closeness, their friendship, but apparently Ron was too hurt to feel the same way.

He stood up, the chair sliding back from him with force.

Hermione bolted up as well, “Stop it, Ron. It can't be yes or no with us. We can't not be friends.”

“Oh I'm sorry,” Ron seethed, looking more disgusted than ever. “I forgot you make all of the choices here. I forgot you always know best. Well here's something that even Hermione Granger might not be aware of: I don't want to be friends, and what's more: I can't.” He looked at her as his words took impact, and then with a fractionally softened expression added: “not now.”

And then he left.

Hermione shakily sat back down into the chair, and pressed her palms hard against her eyelids. 

When she looked up, she noticed that the old musician had stopped playing his banjo and was walking over to her slowly. With a gentle expression, he placed a white rose on the table next to her and walked away. 

Hermione took the rose and smelled it.

And as the fumes transferred strength through scent and random acts of kindness filled Hermione with courage, she left.

xxx

Thirty minutes later, Hermione found herself in the Hogs Head. This was certainly not her first place of choice, but this was the spot that she agreed to meet Rory and Ginny and the boys later on. She was still early, but she reckoned that she could use this time to get a tighter hold on herself.

Shoving her hands into her overcoat, Hermione entered the Hogs Head with her face downcast. Looking around for a seat, however, she spotted some unexpected but familiar eyes. The eyes she met were none other than Romilda Vane's, who was situated in a dark and grimy corner surrounded by many other Hogwarts students: some Ravenclaw, but dominated with an overwhelming amount of Gryffindor. 

To Hermione's surprise, Romilda waved her over.

Hermione, with nothing else to do, slinked over towards Romilda and her gang. 

Romilda pulled up a chair for Hermione, who sat down carefully. Romilda's eyes twinkled with mischief in the dark room. That really should have been Hermione's cue to go, but she didn't want to be rude. Not to mention the fact that she didn't actually have anywhere to go.

“You look like you could use a drink,” said Romilda. “Am I wrong?”

“Yeah, okay.” Hermione nodded, expecting a butter-beer, but instead getting firewhisky slid her way. “Wait, no—I'll just have--”

Romilda cast Hermione with a smug look, and turned to with a 'see? I told you,' kind of expression towards her friend, Cathy. Furious with this exchange, Hermione was quick to change her mind: “Actually, no, that's fine.” 

Picking up the shot, Hermione studied the amber liquid. 

“It's not a science experiment, Granger.” a seventh year Gryffindor said in a voice that held an uncanny resemblance to Draco Malfoy's drawling tone. Reminded of Malfoy, this is what it took to get Hermione to down the shot in one go. Her eyes watering, and her throat burning, Hermione shook her head vigorously in attempts to get rid of the fiery sensation.

Someone was patting her hard on the back, and she looked up to see that same fifth year boy—now beaming down at her as if she were a prize. 

“Atta girl!” he said, extending a hand. “That's more like it. I'm Ezra, by the way. Ezra Fredrick—oh, no, no need to introduce yourself--” He said before Hermione could exchange her own set of pleasantries. “I know quite well who you are. How could I not?”

He had a pleasant Irish accent. Hermione liked Irish accents. 

Ezra Fredrick turned out to be one of those incredibly extroverted people who seem to be filled with endless energy. Through out the night, he kept Hermione company with jokes and stories, and urged her to down more firewhisky. He really was convincing, but what urged Hermione on the most was not the friendly Ezra, but a combination of other factors.

First, there was Romilda Vane, and her judgmental looks. Then, there was Ron—and his hurting remarks...and of course, there was the detentions now gone but not forgotten. Basically, it as if Hermione's life had unraveled in perfect symphony and order to make this one masterpiece of a crap showdown. 

And now that she thought of it---crap showdown was a phrase so funny that she couldn't help but giggle. And then laugh. And finally wheeze as she tried to regain control. The room was spinning, but it was a fun kind of spin. Except, that wasn't right....a spinning room wasn't supposed to be fun.

Ezra reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and Hermoine naturally recoiled. 

“You're so pretty when you flush like that.” said Ezra, his eyes hazy. 

Hermione, immediately sobered for a second. But in that second, she was around long enough to declare: “Hogwarts, I should go...”

A few people mumbled half-arsed good byes, but Ezra almost tripped over himself in his exasperation. “You can't go! It won't be fun without you!”

Hermione felt herself smiling and sinking deeper into her chair. He was so nice. And she was being fun! She was the entertainment. It wouldn't be fun without her. She was going to stay--

“Come on, Granger,” a large hand closed around her bicep.“It's time to go.”

Hermione turned her blurry vision to meet her kidnapper. She nearly toppled back in her seat at the icy gray eyes that stared blankly back at hers.

 

xxx

The quicker you review, the quicker the next chapter will be up. Things are about to get exciting. Are you excited? Well then tell me!


	10. Chapter 10

Draco couldn't believe his luck.

He had come to the Hogs Head, the only place in Hogsmeade where he wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb, in hopes of complete and utter numbing of the senses. Theo had come along as well, his consciousness in need of a similar type of dulling. 

Draco was just lifting a bottle of hard cider to his lips when he spotted her.

Her, in the last place he would have placed Hermione Granger—she had apparently placed herself. If the setting didn't surprise him enough, it was the set of characters she was associating herself with that did. Romilda Vane, Cathy Banks, and Ezra Fredricks...that was definitely out of her usual social circle, which by Draco's standards were only slightly better. But better. Even Draco could attest to that...Romilda Vane was just....

And then something happened that truly made Draco want to flee to Madam Pompfry for an eye exam: Granger took a shot. Draco and Theo watched on with open jaws, Draco's own alcohol thoroughly dismissed back onto the table. 

“Mate.” said Theo.

“I know.” said Draco.

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

And that was that. Draco had to make a move, how could he not? He waited, of course, calculating the right time to intervene. Yet, as she kept drinking, he only kept getting more and more uneasy.

It was just too easy.

Theo took note of this too. “Bloody hell, you lucky bastard.”

Draco went to swallow, but found his throat dry. A ball of pure tension had snaked around his vital organs; his lungs, his heart; his stomach all felt knotted together and pulled tight.

“What?” He asked, finally picking up the hard cider and swallowing many gulps of liquid courage. His hands trembled. Theo didn't notice.

“This is so perfect.” Theodore whispered with glee. “Merlins Beard, this is too perfect! Draco, go in there—come on, now that she's all ready. Like a fucking pig in a pen, all wrapped up nice and pretty for you, I can't believe this. You lucky bastard!” 

Draco shifted in his seat as he listened to Theo repeating much of the same pep talk.

“Well, go on then!” Theo urged, “before one of her little friends can steal her first.”

Draco stood, he hadn't drank much—but he felt numb alright.

Snap out of it, he commanded, what is wrong with you?

Theo was right; he knew what to do. She was like a pig in a pen. All he had to do was play his cards right and he would be walking out with dinner.

But somehow, it felt as if those cards had been swept up by a strong gust of wind and landed face down. Just looking at her, Draco was as internally conflicted and mixed up as his metaphorical hand of cards.

The crowd around her were barely paying her any attention—besides an overeager Ezra Fredricks, who was using her as his own personal entertainment for the night, no doubt hoping to score with one of the corners of the Golden Trio. He would have probably sucked Potter's dick, if it were him here and not Granger. Yes, Draco seethed, if anything he was about to do Granger a favor.

Before he made it too far though, he turned around to whisper to Theo: “Stay here, alright?” Draco commanded. “Don't follow this time.”

Theo nodded, his eyes locked on Granger across the room. Draco turned back around, his own eyes finding the same spot. 

Finally having approached the table, she had still not turned and seen him. 

He made his move, reaching a hand to her arm. “Come on, Granger. It's time to go.”

She turned around, swaying a bit in her chair.

“What do you want?” her tone and expression were both laced with annoyance, her eyes narrowed, voice gravelly. 

Unfortunately, Granger didn't seem to be the only one curious to what he wanted as many heads turned with vigor in his direction. Someone nearly fell over in their chair trying to see over someones head. 

Draco leaned in real close, keeping his voice low so only she could hear. “Unless, of course, you want to make even a bigger of a fool of yourself.”

“Haven't you heard?” she hissed, not unkindly. “I'm the fun!”

Draco had heard. Enough. He couldn't help it. He took the liberty of heaving Granger up to her uncoordinated feet. She toppled, but he was prepared and steadied her without problem.

“Don't!” Granger said, so loudly that many more heads wrung in their direction. This time, from every corner of the bar. 

Indignantly, she straightened out her sweater and shook back her hair before stalking off.

Draco sighed, but other than mild vexation, he was just fine with this. In fact, this was even better. She was doing all the work for him. 

“Okay, go ahead then.” Draco mumbled.

I'll catch up to you.

But Fredricks was not having it. Standing up so quickly and with such force that he nearly tumbled over his chair, Fredricks eyes widened along with his mouth. “Hermione, hold up! I'll take you back, aight?”

“I don't think that will be necessary.” lowly said Draco. “Aight?”

Fredricks didn't seem to be listening, but neither was Hermione; who had navigated herself around some chairs who were occupied by some of the dingiest wizards and witches Draco had ever seen (and that was saying a lot, for he had seen many.) The doors swung shut behind her with force and her curly head disappeared. There was four or five seconds of silence before everyone broke out in chatter, all at once.

Draco picked up the coat she had left on the back of her chair, and started after her.

It seemed like Fredricks had the same idea, as he went scurrying in the same direction.

Draco roughly seized Fredricks by the arm when he saw the boy treading after her. “I'm afraid it looks like you're going to have to entertain yourself tonight...which, shouldn't be too different from any other nightly routine.”

Fredrick swung around, and Draco was not expecting the punch. He should have really, if he had considered his last comment.

The little fucker got a good one, he did. Right in the left eye, and Draco reeled back in pain. 

Draco wasn't thrilled at loosing time he could have been using to chase after Hermione, but he had no control over himself in what came next.

It wasn't hard getting a neat blow right to Ezra's nose. It was even easier to nail him in the stomach when his hands reached out to stop the blood flowing down his face. And finishing Fredrick's off by grabbing his t-shirt collar and shoving him into the counter was no difficult task either. The younger lad couldn't have weighed over one hundred twenty pounds. The hardest part was getting away once the bartender took notice, and was sending a hex Draco's way with frightening accuracy.

Draco slipped out just in time as a vase exploded in the background. He heard shouts flaring up behind him. And then the heavy door swung closed and he was out in the significantly less rowdy street. The bartender did not come after Draco. After all, the Hogs Head had seen many scuffles, and this one would not be the last.

The whole business was over in less than thirty seconds. It was a short fight, but Ezra had gotten a clean go at Draco's eye. Nothing that couldn't be fixed easily enough with a wand although Draco did not dare try to perform the spell on himself. And just as well, as that was a point that was going to come in handy. 

It had gotten dark outside. The lit lanterns cast tall shadows from the people who walked the streets. 

“Granger!” called Draco, catching up with her shadow that had just about slipped out of his view, heading in the way back to the castle. 

A few people gave him foul looks as he shoved past them to get to her.

“Wha--” She whirled around, mid question.

It was no mystery what cut her off. Her eyes trained on his left eye, already swelling. Her looking at it made the pain somehow real for the first time. Her paying attention to it made him pay attention to it and man, if it didn't suddenly hurt like a motherfucker. 

“Since this is in a way your fault, would you mind--”

His own sentence was lost to the air as she performed the spell before he even had he chance to ask her too. Placing the wand back into her pocket, she turned around. But not without getting the last word in first. 

“In no way is it my fault that you acted like half-wit.” She held up a hand to silence him, for he had opened his mouth. “And no, I don't even want to hear what happened.”

And to prove this point further, she turned around once again began her brisk walk, which was surprisingly steady. 

“You downed some firewhisky tonight, didn't you?” Draco asked, falling into step with her.

“Nothing a sobering charm couldn't fix,” she shrugged. “I mean, seriously. Is that what people call having a good time?”

Draco laughed.

“What's so funny to you?” she frowned.

“Nothing. I was just wondering, what does Hermione Granger consider fun?”

Her frown deepened. “What do you care. I know what you want me to say. Homework. Har, har. So funny. Hermione Granger finds homework more fun than drinking! So what! At least I enjoy an activity that requires gaining brain cells rather than losing them.” 

Draco was taken aback. He feigned hurt, drawing a hand to his heart. “But that's not why I was laughing. It's just that you administrated the sobering charm before the fun could even begin. No one likes the process of drinking, everyone knows it's what comes after.”

Granger seemed to have ignored him, and instead slowed her pace. Draco decreased in speed along with her.

She stopped.

“What now?” Draco groaned, stopping too. 

She began walking again, quickly. Draco hurried along to catch up.

She stopped.

Draco stopped. 

She slowly turned to face him, raising her eyebrows.

“Exactly, Malfoy. What now? As in, what do you think you're doing? Detention is over, if you hadn't realized. You don't have to ever see my face again.”

“No reason why we shouldn't walk back together.” Draco drawled, hoping somewhere along his improvised speech something could make some sense. “You're heading back to the castle...I'm heading back to the castle...have you perhaps heard of the buddy system?”

But Hermione was too sharp. “You're full of crap.”

They had just passed the “come back soon!” sign when an interruption came in the form of Granger's annoying little friend, Rory Sanders. Sanders was a short brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, with a little button nose and a high pitched voice. Granger on her own looked harmless enough, but with Rory by her side as a comparison, she looked as refined and aggressive as a shark. 

“Hermione, Hermione!” Sanders bounced towards them, her voice was sugar.

Draco shot her a look, putting as much menace into his facial features as his physicality would enable. Which was a lot.

Rory paid no attention however. “Are you heading back so soon? I thought we were all meeting tonight. You know, the gang.”

Draco could have puked at the words 'the gang.' He basically did.

“I don't feel well,” said Hermione.

“Oh.” A shadow came over Sanders' face. She glanced at Draco, and her eyes did the narrowing thing Draco was well used to receiving. “Well,” she said carefully. “Actually, neither do I. Mind if I accompany you back?”

Great, Draco thought, just what I need. Perfect situation my ass. If only Theo could see him now...

Draco watched as Granger's eyes shifted from his to Rory's. “Are you sure?”

“Yep!” Rory said, and then again turned to Draco. “I'm sorry, am I interrupting?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly, as if the notion of their being something to interrupt was of most ridiculousness. “of course not.”

“I'm still going back to the castle,” Draco said just as quickly. “Do you mind?”

If Rory thought she could annoy him out of this, she was going to have to try a lot harder.

And so the odd trio were stuck walking back to the school and despite their strong personalities, no one was first to complain. A conversation between Rory and Hermione eventually started. One that thoroughly ignored Draco.

And that was fine by him, as his head had way too many thoughts to sift through. And as he realized that tonight was just not going to work for his plans, unbelievable relief washed over it. And directly after it followed the guilt.

How relieved he was at saving little Hermione Granger. 

Draco had just about completely retreated into the chamber of his own thoughts when a red stream of light shot out from the forest on their left.

A thud immediately followed this event, which marked the fall of Granger. A tiny yelp of surprise came next from Rory. Finally, Draco turned just in time to see Theo coming out from the shadows. 

“Quick, Draco--”

But Theodore didn't have time to finish. Draco cut him off with his own stupefy. His spell was so unbelievably strong, that it even caught Draco off guard as Theo went flying at least thirty feet back. He watched with a mixture of horror and satisfaction as Theo's body made a loud scraping sound as it hit the ground and skidded another ten feet or so. Somewhere in the back of his head, a siren went off to check on his friend, but a much louder worry was overpowering.

Granger.

Theo's stunning spell was no where near as mighty as Draco's was, so Granger had merely collapsed on the path like a heap of grocery’s. Draco kneeled not so carefully beside her, reaching out a hand to press against her forehead. 

His heart rate was on the down slope towards normal, when footsteps sounded behind him. He dismissed them as obviously Sanders. And Sanders was not of any importance. 

If only he had though differently...

A paralyzing spell hit him square in the back. 

“So it turns out true, little Draco Malfoy can't be trusted.” 

Unfreeze me, Draco screamed inside his head, isn't it obvious I was trying to protect her!?

But Sanders did not unfreeze him. She walked around to face him, and looked down onto his kneeling body. Looked down as one of his hands pressed on Hermione's forehead and the other clutched Hermione's jacket. And she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

Tilting her head to the side, Rory Sanders spelled Draco unconscious. But not before telling him: “Levia will not believe this.”

 

xxx

Hey guys! Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, and just thank you just for being interested in this story and taking the time to read it! I appreciate it a lot. I hope you liked this chapter, and as always--let me know if you did :) or if you didn't....any feedback I welcome!

Til next time,  
Alexis


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione:

There was a dull and continuous scuffing sound that sounded like someone dragging their feet against a gritty floor. Then there was a flapping sound, like a large bird spreading it's wings, and Hermione felt a breeze wash over one side of her body. Some minutes later (or was it hours?) she heard herself moan and felt herself roll over. Feeling comfortable and achy all at once, she sighed into the soft fabric, accepting whatever untouched reality she was swimming in and out of. 

Then there was a slam: a door being loudly flung shut.

Hermione's eyes flew open. She vaulted into sitting position. She swiftly looked right, then left, neck screaming in pain at the sudden rotation. 

The room was large, but felt suffocating due to the lack of windows and damp basement-like air. If it wasn't for the two large lamps burning on each side of the bed on tables, Hermione wouldn't have been able to see anything at all. There was a door of heavy oak across from her. There was also another one to the left of the bed, but when Hermione turned to notice it, something else captured her attention A large lump lay next to her, covered nearly all with the hefty blanket with the exception of the instantly recognizable blond-white hair.

Jumping out of the bed as if it had caught on fire, Hermione felt around for what she knew would not be there. Her wand. She felt her pockets, and after that, the space she was laying in. In desperation, she even looked under the bed. Her heart rate rose and her breath shortened. Panic.

She pulled herself together only for long enough to stalk over to the other side of the bed.

Ripping the sheets with furious force off of Malfoy's body, she screamed. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” 

Malfoy, despite her sheer volume and rage, remained passed out. Several seconds of silence followed the outburst as Hermione glared down at his peaceful body. The more she looked at his relaxed face in his deep sleep, the angrier she got. 

For all her loudness before, now she quietly and calmly approached him closer still, raised a controlled hand, and slapped him as hard as she could. 

As the echo of the hit went around the room, Draco finally came around, however not in the rapid way Hermione had. 

“Hmm...” He moaned at first, as if was coming out of a pleasant dream rather than a scornful whack. 

“WAKE UP YOU IDIOT!” Hermione yelled, hoping to speed up the process. “WAKE UP AND TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE DONE.”

“What?” Draco finally called out. He sat up slowly, opened his eyes even slower. “Nothing!” 

“Don't lie!” Hermione wailed. “Everything. Tell me everything now. Where are we? Who put us here? It was you, wasn't it? WASN'T IT? Don't just sit there! Answer me!”

“Just hold on a second!” Draco exclaimed, flinging the sheets away from him and rising himself. “And think. What do you remember? Because if anything, you would realize it was not me who put you here!”

They were standing chest to chest now. Looking at each other eye to eye.

She did remember. The fact of the matter was that there was no way it was Draco who had done the damage. Hermione had to respect the facts, however she wanted so many more. At the same time, speaking was difficult at the moment. She was devastated. She was exhausted. She was scared.

Draco dodged past her, and began to inspect the room. Hermione felt herself unable to do even that, and stupidly stood watching him do all the work. His smooth saunter would have fooled Hermione if she wasn't looking close and noticed his fingers shaking. Silence stood between them as Draco checked the first door. Locked. Then the second. Bathroom.

That was what gave Hermione strength. That was what made her truly believe him. If Malfoy was scared, he wasn't lying. But it also meant he knew something. Stuff she needed to know too. Silence stood between them as Draco checked the first door. Locked. Then the second. Bathroom.

“Well,” he said nastily. “That was nice of them.”

“Who's they?”

Draco didn't answer.

“Who's they, Draco?” Hermione demanded.

“Levia.” Draco whispered, his back still to her. “Rory. 

“What?” Hermione half said, half yelled. 

He turned around. Slowly. Hermione was unsure whether this was to taunt her or if Draco was just a fan of dramatics. Perhaps both. Yes, definitely both. If Draco Malfoy's personality could be split into ingredients, 50% of it would be taunting and the other would be dramatics. 

“Levia,” He said louder. “Rory, Theo, Stump, Pansy...more...me included, I guess. Although probably not due to recent events. They call themselves The Loyals.”

“Rory.” Hermione said, her throat dry. “Rory who?”

“Rory who brought us here. Your Rory.”

“You're a liar.” seethed Hermione.

“Fair enough.” Draco said calmly. “Anyways, that's not important now. What's important is--”

“LIAR!” shouted Hermione, catapulting herself off of the bed. Once on her feet, she stood quivering, but unsure of what to do. She was quivering with the realization that there was nothing to do, and that what he was saying was probable. “LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR!” She screamed again, just to scream something. Just to overpower all of the noise in her head. 

Draco's expression was sad. It was pitying. Hermione looked around the room for something to throw at him, but came up with nothing but a lamp, which was unfortunately too deadly of a weapon. Even in these circumstances, she was not a murderer. But she wished she was. Wished she was heartless and fearless enough to fling that motherfucking lamp right into his motherfucking face.

Motherfucking. The thought of the word felt good in her head. She sat down, and was suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted. 

She laid down onto her back. “Are they going to kill us?” 

“No.” Draco said so quickly that she knew he was lying.

“They will. And I wish they would do it already!” she shouted at the ceiling. “You hear that?! Just do it already!”

“Shut up, Hermione.” Draco said, his voice close and low. “Don't be stupid. They would never kill something as useful as you. They will torture you and make you wish you were dead, but no, never kill you.”

Her body convulsed and her eyes filled with tears. How could he say those things so calmly? 

“Me, however, they will have no problem killing.” Draco continued. “But if anyone is listening now, I did not try and betray The Loyals. It was simply the wrong time. If you do not believe me, I ask you to kill me, torture me, drag me to hell, but do not touch my mother.”

Hermione did not understand these things he was saying fully, but she was connecting the dots into terrible constellations. Some logical clarity was forming in her mind, but her emotions were becoming more blurred. This was too horrible to take in all at once. Numbness stepped in, blocking any negative sensations. She felt very heavy. Dots were swimming in front of her eyes, painting themselves onto the ceiling. Clouded vision, clouded ears. Malfoy was still talking, but she had stopped listening what felt like forever ago. Time was very slow.

Until the door opened.

The click of the lock and creak of the wood sent her flying upright, senses coming back bright red. Time spitting her back into horrible reality. She reached for the lamp.

 

xxx

 

I realize this chapter is shorter than usual. That is because A. It was incredibly difficult to write (hence me taking so long with getting it out.) And B. It's the only way I could think to have it transition properly with the rest of the story. By the way, this is about the halfway point of this fic. I know it's taking a while for Draco and Hermione to just it on already (I know this is what we all want tbh) but I am trying to make it as realistic as possible. Besides, there are a lot of one shots out there if you're looking for something a little more...fast paced. I hope you don't mind the way I'm deciding to build it. And if you do mind, sorry, because I am trying to be tedious with this story, true to the characters, and give the plot the attention it deserves. As I said, this is about the halfway point, and a very pivotal point as well. I hope you stick around for the rest of it and as always, please leave a review.

Thank you for reading,  
Alexis.


	13. Chapter 12

Draco:

Three things happened in very quick succession. First, Draco heard the very door he was standing directly in front of unlatch. He jumped away quickly, off to the side. Levia and Stump entered the room. However, before either could even as much as glance around, the second thing happened. A lamp was flung their way. Unfortunately for Draco and the thrower, it missed them and hit a wall just inches to the left of Stumps head. Glass shattered, metal rung, the impact echoed. Silence followed. And then the third thing: Stump raised a wand to punish Hermione, but before a spell could be administrated, Draco grabbed that arm and slammed it backwards into the wall.

A cringe inducing crack indicated the breaking of the bone. A scream indicated Stump's pain and a shriek indicated Levia's rage. Quickly, she sent a messy curse that caused Draco to be slammed into the opposite wall. The contact was not great, and Draco recovered quickly. Still, he was wandless, and Levia was not. She froze him at the spot with a Petrificus Totalus. 

“Well,” Levia said with a feign causality, though the foreign tremor in her voice didn't go past Draco. It was rare for Levia to get shaken up, and all things considered, he was proud of accomplishing at least that. He was proud of Hermione for accomplishing that, despite just how completely tactless her action was. How Gryffindor it was. 

“Now that was impressive.” Levia continued, her voice back to complete cool nonchalance. “I did not know it was possible for someone to make such a colossal mistake.”

Draco wished more than anything that he could look at Hermione. To shoot her a warning glance to not throw any more lamps, or for that matter say anything at all. Levia was angry enough, but Draco knew she could get angrier. What had Granger thought throwing that lamp would accomplish? No, he decided, she must have not thought at all. A frustration filled him to the very core, and he willed himself to move. To no avail. 

“Are you two forgetting who is in charge here?” Levia said, this time addressing the both of them. “Or,” Levia lifted her wand. “Do” She took a step towards Hermione. “I-need-to-remind-YOU?!”

The red light that shot from Levia's wand was so bright that Draco's eyes flared up in pain at having been glued open. It was so painful looking at it, that he could not even begin to imagine the pain of receiving it. By no doubt this was a Crutatious, and by no doubt a powerful one at that. Hermione's high pitched wail pierced the room. The spell had reached it's target.

Draco wished he could roll up in a ball on the ground like a little kid; hands over ears. 

It went on and on for what seemed like an eternity. The bright red light, the loud tortured scream, and the inability to escape any of it. Somewhere along the way Draco had the horrible thought that this may never stop, that this was hell on replay, and he was certain that for as long as he would continue to live (which he was beginning to think would not be long) that this memory, this feeling, would be stronger than any that had passed or any that was to come. It would attach to him, so that everything had a red hue to it, and every sound would be fogged over by Hermione's agonized shriek. He could not imagine life after this moment, nor before. 

When it was finally over, Draco's ears rung. He felt he was going to faint--though he was glued to the spot. Levia, exhausted by the effort, took a handful of sharp breaths before addressing Draco. Draco got the idea that she was solely addressing him as Hermione had to be unconscious by now. 

“I hope this was a learning experience for the both of you.” said Levia. “I really do. Now, I'll be back tomorrow if you don't mind. And we can try this thing again. Hopefully, I will find you much more obedient, yes?”

Draco, of course, could not answer this question. But if he could, he would have filled his voice with as much venom when he said no. You will not.

With one final pleased look around the now completely disordered room, Levia left. Stump, having stayed quiet during the whole ideal, trailed behind, cradling his limp arm. The door was shut and Draco was released from the spell, but he did not move for quite some time. He could not turn around. He stood unmoving for some several minutes, as if the spell was still administrated. He had always been a coward, and it was no different now. He was afraid of what he had to face.

He did not spot Hermione at once when he did turn to the bed. The sheets were a chaotic mess, and took some navigating with his eyes to spot the small shape that was somewhere in the bulk of them. She looked so tiny, as if her body had shriveled up. Maybe it had, but Draco didn't want to think about that.

Draco took three steps forward, but could only muster that. He had still not seen her face. Was she conscious? 

No way.

Still, he tried. “Hermione?” 

Coward. Coward. Coward. He hated himself for it. He took a couple more steps to reach the bed now. He scooted over the sheet. A flag of curly hair was hiding her face and Draco brushed it away from her cheek with great care.

Hermione's eyes were shut loosely, one eyelid drooping lower than the other. Blood was trickling out of the side of her mouth, but a smaller amount than he would have expected. The spell was so bright. So bright. He lifted a sheet to wipe the corner of her lip, the red stained the white fabric. 

He pressed two fingers to the side of her neck.

The rapid beating of her heart pounded against his fingertips, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was bad, he knew, but it was not over. She was alive, and despite how much easier it would have made things from then on if she wasn't, he was glad of the fact.

He walked over to the far side of the room and collapsed onto the ground; overwhelmed and exhausted. He sat there for what seemed like hours. Still, Hermione was unmoving, but Draco did not go to check on her again for some time. It felt as if he was glued to the floor, like the force of gravity had tripled and his weight was now dragging him down down down.

He tried to listen...to hear something, anything, but heard only his own breathing. The walls must be thick, he thought, but were they still listening? Were they watching them or did they have better things to do? If he and Hermione were to talk, would there be anyone to hear? 

It took twice as long to pull himself together as it did crumble. And by that time, he didn't know what to do. So he went to the bathroom, and took a shower. There weren't any towels so Draco shivered violently as he stood naked and wet in the bathtub, waiting for the water to dry on its own. He dressed in his muddy pants, and grass stained white dress shirt. The Hogwarts logo that was etched into the breast of the fabric was peeling off. Draco ripped the entire thing away.

When he came back to the room, he was shocked to find Hermione awake. 

She was sitting on the bed, staring down at her feet. One of her shoes was ripped at the sole. Her face was completely shielded by her hair. 

“Are you okay?” He asked stupidly. Gently. Naively. 

Hermoine lifted her head to look at him. Red eyed, dry mouthed, pale faced. She looked like a ghost, and Draco shivered at the penetration of that haunting stare.

“Lay down.” Draco commanded, not unkindly. “I'll bring you some water.” 

She obeyed. She had to be thirsty. 

Draco made a quick run to the bathroom, letting the faucet adapt to the cold setting before cupping as much water as he could into his palms. Walking back carefully, he instructed Hermione to sit up. She did willingly, and drank the water just as so. There was no shame. For now, they were in a mutual understanding; it was too exhausting to work against each other, all things considered. Right now, right here, all they could do was help each other out. The cat fed the mouse. 

Or perhaps the mouse fed the mouse. Were they not even now? Were they not both trapped in this hell of a place? 

Draco propped some pillows behind her and straightened out the blankets so that they were evenly covering Hermione's body. She stayed sitting up, her eyes glazed and open. Unseeing. She had gone zombie. He had never seen Hermione Granger so...fire-less. So...drained. So not Hermione. 

He barely recognized her. He wanted her to yell, to cry, to throw more lamps, to do anything but be this, be nothing. He wanted her to be mad at him and hit him and hurt him, bury him in hate. He wanted her eyes to return.

They didn't have much time. They needed a plan. But for the plan, he needed Hermione. Fiery and brave and stupid and angry. He could only think of one way to get her back. He had to make her angry. So furious that she had no choice but to snap.

He didn't have much to work with, but he did have himself. And if anything made Hermione angrier than him, Draco did not know of it

He kissed her. Hard and rough on the mouth. On her dry lips he placed his own and pressed down. Her body reclined into the pillows behind her, and to keep from losing contact Draco grabbed the back of her head to keep her to him. She did not move, she did not breathe. It was almost like kissing a corpse, and about the least steamiest makeout session Draco had ever participated in. However, he kept to it, and did the best he could on his part. Finally, it was when Draco ran his tongue over her rough bottom lip that got her. 

She shoved him away, weakly at first, but when he didn't budge she really pushed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

There she is, Draco thought, unable to keep from smiling.

She hit him square in the chest with one fist. And then another. The fire had returned indeed, and from the look of her eyes, Draco saw she wished to burn him alive. He backed off. 

“What was that for?” she demanded. “Never do that again—under no circumstances ever do that again.”

“Because I am so in love with you, Hermione Granger.” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. You didn't give me any other choice—if I hadn't done that, you might have gone full fledged zombie by the morning. 

“You're sick,” Hermione glared at him. But it wasn't a dedicated glare. She was still looking limp and sedated, and Draco knew that most of her energy had gone to shoving him off of her.

“From where I stand, I just helped you.” He scoffed.

She looked at him incredulously. “You kidnapped me.” She said, her voice breaking. “You brought me here.”

“I had no other choice.” Draco said, looking towards the door. “They are keeping my mother.”

There, he said it. When he looked back to Hermione, her face looked to be in a storm of emotions, none of which he could pinpoint. 

“I'm sorry.” he said.

“Me too.” She laughed darkly. “I guess I can't really blame you. After all this time, I finally understand that it's me. There's something foul in me. Something that attracts the foul to me.” 

Draco's eyebrows pulled together. He didn't know what to say to that. He switched the subject. “Listen, there's no use in working against each other now. We're in the same boat, you and I.”

But Hermione shook her head, disagreeing. Her eyes blurred with tears.

“We are,” Draco said quickly, looking away. He didn't want to see her cry. He wanted to stop it. “We are both here to be punished, I'm not on their side anymore and they know it. This is twice I've tried to save you now, you know.”

And he didn't look happy about the fact. Hermione frowned. “The second time?”

“With Theo, in the forest. When he tried to take you, I didn't let him. I don't know why I did it, but there you go. I saved you. And now I have just broken one of the Loyals wrists. Snapped it like a twig actually, like he deserved.”

“My hero!” Hermione spat. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you dear Draco, for saving me! I am forever grateful.”

“Listen,” Draco exploded. “You don't have to like me! I'm not asking you to be grateful, I'm just stating the facts. I'm not claiming to be anything, and I'm not exceptionally fond of you either. All I'm saying is right now—in this room, we have to work together. We have to push whatever feelings we may have about each other down and talk.”

“Fine, then. Talk Malfoy.” Hermione seethed. “If you have so much to say.”

“I can't share the details.” Draco seethed back. “They have my mother, if you haven't forgotten. But we--”

“Your mother is dead.”

Draco started. He had been pacing the room, but now stopped dead in his tracks. 

He rotated furiously towards Hermione. “What did you say to me?”

Hermione had a deer-in-headlights look about her. “That wasn't me.”

“What?” Draco stopped toward her.

“I heard it too, Draco.” She said, dodging her eyes away.

Draco swiveled towards the door now. “COME SAY IT TO MY FACE!”

After this short outburst, he fell silent, his eyes giving away regret. “Well at least now we know they're listening.” He said at last, walking back over towards the bed, the only place he could sit down—which he desperately needed right now.

“I'm sorry, Draco.” Hermione said as he sat at the foot. 

“I don't believe them anyways,” he set his jaw, looking towards the wooden door. 

“Oh...” Hermione was at loss for words, and the situation felt so grim at that very moment that she felt she would suffocate sooner than enunciate another syllable. What were she going to do? What were they going to do? 

Draco cleared his throat before she could have a full fledged meltdown. “Like I was saying before, we should try to get along at least a little. Because I can tell you one thing—I'm not sleeping on the floor. Are you?”

Hermione shrugged. She could whine and groan and try to convince him to sleep nowhere next to her, but she was too exhausted even for that. Besides, what was the point anyway? Did she even care anymore? No. “It's a big bed.” She said, rolling over to face the wall.

 

xxx  
I know it's been a long time, and I'm sorry if you've lost interest. But I haven't, and am still dedicated to writing this story to the bitter, or happy? or bitter? or happy? (stay tuned and see,) end.


	14. Chapter 14

They did not sleep for long, a handful of hours at most, but neither could confidently say how long—or even what time it was, besides that it must have been early morning. There was no clock in the room, driving Hermione to near madness. She was sore today, and stayed in bed when the breakfast tray appeared at the door. Draco brought it down, seating himself as he opened the plastic container. 

Hermione sat up a little, craning her neck to see what scraps the Loyals decided a mudblood was worthy of. She wasn't very hungry, but she knew she must eat for strength instead of want. 

Draco laid out the contents: Two oranges, bread, and cheese. Two small plastic glasses for the tap water. He went to fill them.

Hermione reached for the orange, and started peeling.

“You should eat the bread first,” Draco advised, coming back and handing her a cup of water. His voice was gravely from sleep. “Acidic foods first thing in the morning won't do you're stomach any good.”

Hermione ignored him and kept peeling. She wasn't in the mood for the heaviness of bread and cheese in her stomach either. She wanted to start light. 

“Hermione,” Draco warned. “I'm serious.”

Hermione let out a huge breath. “Okay, Draco, we're literally prisoners. If I were to construct a hell, this would be it. Do not forget that you have put me in this situation, and you're trying to give me dietary suggestions so my stomach won't get upset?”

There was no response from him besides a dignified “Well then.”

They finished their meal in silence. 

“I don't think your mother is really dead.” Hermione said softly, easing into the conversation. “Otherwise, why wouldn't they have killed you yet? No offense.”

Draco nodded. “None taken. I was thinking that, too. They need me for something, and they need leverage.”

“Can you think what for?”

“Well I've failed getting you, that's obvious. But maybe they think--”

“You can get someone else.” Hermione finished, and they didn't have to say the who. That much was clear.

“Right.” Draco agreed. Putting down his half finished orange. “Hey, you want the rest of this?”

Hermione nodded, taking it from him. He watched the wall as she ate. 

Just as she finished, the door opened, as if they had been waiting. They probably had. Levia swung it purposefully open and stood over by the side, waiting for them. A tall man stood to the right of her, all dark hair and beard and eyes. To the left, a stockier guy had his best menacing face on. Levia's bodyguards.

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears as she stood, with difficulty, to walk. She did not know for sure why they were keeping her alive, or Draco for that matter, but something told her she was about to find out. 

They followed Levia's dark cloaked figure down a long hallway that reminded Hermione of a prison. She couldn't help but wonder if any of the other wooden doors held captives. When she looked over at Draco, she could feel him doing the same, but she knew he was speculating if his mother was behind these walls, which was so much worse. Before she could think of stopping herself, she reached over and squeezed his shoulder, making him twitch back to reality. 

He looked at her, but she could not bear to meet his pained expression for more than a few seconds, and she dropped her hand. 

“Seems like you two are getting along rather well,” Levia said, voice laced with irony. Hermione could not think how Levia had noted their short encounter. “Do not worry, Draco, I don't care who's side you're on. In fact, it's better this way, now that we have two people you care about.”

Draco looked like he was about to say something, but they had walked into a great dining room. Booming claps surrounded them almost immediately. Logically, Hermione knew that there weren't millions of people crammed into the musky dining hall, but it certainly felt that way. And Merlin they were clapping, hollering for her head. They were happy. Tears stung her eyes, half of her was fury and the other was despair. These were truly vile human beings, and they were going to show her no mercy.

She focused in on the back of Levia's head, training her eyes on one grey hair to concentrate on. She was not going to look at these people. Hermione resolved that must she go down, she would not give them any more satisfaction at glimpsing her weakness. She did not even take in the room, because doing that would make her hopeful for a way out, and she could not bare to gain hope as it would be too painful and imminent that she would lose it. 

It must have been worse for Draco, she knew it had to be. These were not strangers that were clapping away at his demise, these were friends and acquaintances, people his family probably had over for dinner on Sunday nights.

Once the commotion had stopped, Levia turned to face them, and extended an arm towards the table. “Take a seat.” Hermione rotated her sore skull to two empty chairs at the head of the table. 

“Always a flair for the dramatic, I must say, Levia.” Draco said, his voice a controlled lazy drawl.

“Sit down.” Levia said firmly. “Before I make you.”

Hermione went over and sat. She did not want a repeat of last night. 

“Looky dere, lissen's like a good lil' slave girl.” Someone jostled from the far side of the table loud enough for her to hear. She felt Draco sit down beside her, tense, as she focused in on the candles at the center of the table, watching the flame flicker and crack.

“I'll get straight to the point,” Levia said, circling around to the other focal point of the very large table. “Seeing as Draco has wasted enough time as is. What took so long anyways, Draco? Did you hope to sack her first? I see now how fond you've become. Rory here says you tried to protect the fucking thing.” 

Hermione did not have enough self control to keep her head forward at that. Her eyes immediately flew around the room at the mention of her friend...no, her breath sharpened, not her friend. She found Rory close to Levia's spot, and her blue eyes met Hermione's. Her enemy.

Hermione swiftly looked away, back to the candle. There was a moment of stillness. Then, Levia laughed.

“Pathetic. The both of you.” said Levia, halfheartedly, as if exhausted by how pathetic they truly were. “I could go on for hours at what filth you have marred upon all wizards. But I will not waste my time, so then let's get straight to it. Now that we have the mudblood, no thanks to you Draco might I mention again, our truest target can be lured here. He can never resist being the hero, it's one of the only things I love about him...Draco, you will go to Harry Potter. You will tell Harry Potter who we are and what we have, if he doesn't know it by now. And you will bring him back, alone and intact.”

“This is suicide,” blurted Hermione suddenly “Once he's here, and he's dead, you're all dead. The ministry and everyone will come for you and they will find you.” She desperately tried to make eye contact with the faces around the table, to convince them of this.

“Den why havenna dey found us yet, girl?” The same man that called her a slave leered. 

Hermione bit her cheek and trained her eyes back on the candle.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to, mudblood, or I will make speaking an option no longer.” said Levia. “Now, I will ask you a question that I want an answer to. Where is Harry Potter?”

“You know where he is.” Hermione said. “With his family.”

“So he is living with the Weasely's? Now they're a piece of work.”

Hermione nodded. 

“By tonight you will draw is a map, with specific directions. Draco, tonight you will leave, and return with Potter by sunrise. Is that clear?”

Hermione didn't nod, and with difficulty looked over at Draco just because she knew he wouldn't nod either, and he didn't.

“Do not make me repeat my words.” Levia growled. 

“It's clear that--” began Hermione bravely.

“Yes.” Draco said, too loudly, for the both of them.

Levia, after a poisonous lingering look at Hermione, seemed to accept this.

“Great. Now, Draco, I recommend you get some rest.” 

“Can I see my mother?”

“I told you, your mother is dead.” Levia reminded cooly.

“'Now that we have two people you care about'” said Draco. “Do you not remember, but you said that only a few moments ago.”

Levia erupted from her seat and, whipping her wand out form robes, swung and pointed the weapon directly on Draco's face. Hermione's breath froze in her lungs, but Draco only smiled politely. 

“Oops,” he said tantalizingly, lifting his eyebrows. 

“Take them back.” Levia ordered to Stump. “Now.”

Stump clumsily tripped over himself in trying to stand up fast enough to follow her orders. He shuffled over to them and with a pointed wand, directed them away from the hall. Once they were back in the room, Hermione collapsed on the bed, and burrowed herself in the blanket.

“Don't” Draco's command sounded far away, but it was too late by then: she had began to cry.

She tried to do it quietly, hoping he would escape to the bathroom and she would not be too much of a bother. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and then a body by her side, and finally she ended up crying with Draco Malfoy holding her against him. 

Hermione did not cry for herself. She cried for Harry; for thinking how happy he'd been since she'd seen him last, holding his sides laughing from something Ginny had said to him. And Ron...how their last interaction would be such an ugly one, how he'd stormed off; angry and hurt at her. If she had a time turner, she would have kissed him back there, she swore it. Her mind drifted then to Rory, and she wept some more for the betrayal, the cruelty of someone she had considered a friend.

Finally, she thought about the person at her side. She did not cry for him, because if she cried for him then she would be crying for herself and she could not break that far. Mostly, she was overcome by a feeling of something akin to care and even pride. He had lied to her about changing in the beginning, but he had changed by the end. Was that not all that mattered?

Hermione twisted around to face him. They were very close, but Draco did not flinch as she had expected him too. She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you.” 

He grabbed her gently by the back of the head, and kissed her longer. Neither of them acted surprised. Neither of them made excuses, internally or otherwise. In fact it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. And it felt good and light, to be cared for at such a time. For a few moments Hermione felt okay, and she felt Draco feeling okay, and that was peace.

Hermione, desperately needing to say it, pulled away first. “They're going to kill you no matter what happens, you have to know that right?”

“Hermione...” Draco warned.

“No, listen to me.” He had tried to pull her back to him, but she knew it was only an attempted distraction at what they both knew she was going to say. “You get out, and you don't come back. Don't get Harry. Don't come back.”

“I can't do that.” 

“Why not? It's the only decent ending to this that I can see.”

“It's not an option.” He said firmly.

“Please,” she had begun to cry again, and he smoothed her hair and wiped her cheeks, but would not change his answer. 

After she had calmed, there was a long silence, so long that Hermione was sure he had fallen asleep until finally he whispered, “It will be okay,” even though they both knew that it wasn't true. 

x  
xx  
xxx  
xxxx  
xxxxx

This chapter was fun to write, I know it was probably a little depressing to read, but I hope still enjoyable! Don't forget to let me know what you think :D


	15. Chapter 15

Fat drops of rainwater hit the map which Hermione had drawn him, her tidy penmanship leaking through the paper, the ink spreading, as he tried to maneuver it beneath him in such a way as to fully protect the important information the parchment held. For a moment, he let himself the small pleasure of tilting his head towards the sky, letting the cold droplets run down his face and into the collar of his shirt. Being outside felt so good, even if he had only been cooped up for two days. Then again, his situation was so helpless he had been sure he would not breathe the outdoor air ever again. 

Draco had a great memory, and whether the past floated back to him unannounced and unwanted or was summoned by will, he could always remember small details that everyone else seemed to forget. The smells, the sounds, the weather, that itch on his calf. 

But lately the memory that haunted him the most was this: 

It was his second year at Hogwarts. A sunny day, summer break would start in just two days. Draco had finished his last exam early, and felt he had done well, was cheerfully making his way back to the dorms to pack up his things. He had officially finished his second year of Hogwarts. With high markings too--

A feeling Draco thought could not be stripped by any means from him was automatically extinguished by the form the mess that was Hermione Granger. She was sitting on one of the outside tables, her elbows on the table, hands pressing down a book who's pages were being beckoned by a strong, hot wind. Her frizzed hair was being slapped against her face and she kept having to reach up to shove it back, but each time she did this the book flapped uncontrollably and she lost her page. 

Wuthering Heights, that's what she was reading. Or was it Jane Eyre?

Draco slowed his gait, biting the inside of his cheek. He opened his mouth to say something nasty, and closed it. A bubbling frustration stirred angry in his rib cage. Hermione, sensing someone looming over her, looked up. Her eyes squinted against the sun, but before they could make proper eye contact, Draco rushed away.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot, he had thought at the time. How did you not say anything? How could you not say something? Even a “mudblood” would have done.

But the Draco now knew why he didn't say anything. 

Because no one was around. He was coming from his exam alone, Hermione was reading alone, and the courtyard was empty as he had finished his exam early, and of course Hermoine fucking Granger had too. In other words, he had no audience to listen to his jeer. And with no audience, there was no jeer. 

He stood spaced out in the rain for a few more moments, still thinking; Jane Eyre, or Wuthering Heights? Somehow, he was incredibly bothered by not knowing.

Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights?

He snapped himself out of it. Hermoine was in there, with no Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights to keep her company. She was utterly alone, most likely hopeless, waiting for her death sentence to arrive...

Draco had no wand, no magic, not even a jacket. Very little money, but just enough for a one way trip.

On the way back, he would either have magic...or be dead. Draco didn't think the Weasley's would actually kill him, but he could not underestimate them after what happened between the mother and his aunt.

He shoved the map into his trouser pocket, and set out walking at a brisk, painful pace. His whole body was tired and heavy, and every step felt clumsy as if he could teeter over at any moment. He arrived at the bus stop, and looked at Stump's watch. He wanted to tear the horrid thing off, it having touched Stump's skin, but couldn't. It was too important.

He was ten minutes early.

It was going to be a long journey. 36 hours, or was it 48? The information was passed so quickly, and only once, that Draco wasn't sure. Walk, bus, ferry, train, bus, walk. He could only remember the order of transportation because it was so nearly parallel. 

Walk.

Bus.

Ferry. Train.

Bus. 

Walk.

48 hours later.

It had rained the entire way as Draco hopped from one transportation vehicle to the next, but as soon as it was time to walk again the clouds had parted as if God himself wanted a better view to what was about to happen.

Draco looked down at his watch and again cursed himself for not taking a small break to eat. He was wobbly from exhaustion and the noon sun that now beat down on the muddy field separating him and the Weasley property was only making his head pound that much worse. With one hand he clutched Hermione's map while the other was used for swapping away the mosquitoes and dragonflies that took particular interest to him as he walked. 

What was he supposed to do when he got to the shack the family called a home? Simply knock on their door? Draco was just contemplating his first words as he passed the first of many barns surrounding the property when--

They closed in on him fast and strong; hands gripping his shoulders, hands twisting his neck sideways so his cheek was mashed against the rough wood of the barn, his teeth rattling in his skull. 

“STOP IT!” a shrill voice cried, “LET HIM GO!” 

Potter let go first, but not without a last slam of Draco's head to the barn door. Weasley still gripped him by the shoulder of his t-shirt, a fist comically poised in air. Draco looked past the fist to the woman who commanded his attackers to stop, and met the furious, fiery glare of Mrs. Weasley, her body angled in front of her daughter, and her wand staring him down.

“Ron,” his mother warned. 

Ron stepped back, his foot plopping free from the wet mud they were standing in. Draco tried to look like it wasn't difficult to breathe again, like it didn't feel like he had swallowed sand paper.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, tried to put himself together, opened them back. It was impossible, to put himself together, at the scene he was met with. The entire Weasley, family, sans one twin of course, all looking ready to kill him.

They must have cast an invisible spell. Somehow, they knew he was coming.

It was starting to rain again.

“All of you go inside,” Mr. Weasley said, a hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. “You,” he pointed his wand at Draco and flicked it towards the door, “In the barn.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Potter said quietly, and Ron Weasley nodded furiously next to his friend. Draco noticed his fist was still clenched.

Mr. Weasley looked ready to disagree, but Mrs. Weasley spoke first. “Then stay out here, at least.”

The Weasel did not seem pleased, but Potter put a hand on his shoulder and Draco saw the fabric of Weasley's jumper scrunch up as Potter squeezed. “It's okay, Ron.”

Ron looked directly at Draco. “You're fucking dead, you're done for, you're tortured and hung and are going to spend the rest of your filthy pig life in Azkaban you son of a bitch.”

“RONALD!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her ears reddening in a manner similar to her sons, “That's enough.”

And with that she tugged Draco into the dampness of the barn, dark and uninviting, but without a doubt more pleasant than what the outside had to offer. Mr. Weasley followed stealthily behind, shutting the door behind him.

“Lumos,” Mr. Weasley pointed his wand at a lantern lamp hanging from the ceiling, making it come alight. A warm glow filled the room, and suddenly Draco was very tired. He lazily scanned the room. Dirty, moldy, empty. A knocked over barrel on one side of the far end of the barn, a rake half buried under feed next to his feet, and not much in-between. 

“There's a table and some chairs to talk upstairs.” Mrs. Weasley said. Draco tried to read the tone of her voice, but couldn't.

Draco started up the stairs, and sure enough they came up to a very old looking table and chairs he was afraid to break when he sat down on one. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley opted to stand. He understood.

“Where is she?” Mrs. Weasley said.

No “why are you here?” or “who sent you?” Straight to it, no questions about it.

“The Loyals have her,” Draco said, unable to meet their eyes. “The Loyals are--”

“It's not hard to guess who they are, Draco.” said Mr. Weasley. “But where are they?”

“Before I tell you that, they sent me here to warn you that if anyone but Potter--”

“Draco,” Mr. Weasley's tone was warning. “Where is Hermione?”

Draco exhaled, defeated and deeply frustrated. “Stockholm.”

“Sweden?” Mrs. Weasley hissed.

“Levia Greind has a rental home there, an old house by lake Malaren.”

“Okay...” Mr. Weasley said, pinching his nose. “Okay. How does the Ministry not know about this? How do we know you aren't lying?”

“It's put down in the documents that a retired couple is renting the place, which is true, except that they've been dead for months now.”

Levia made sure that the renters were elderly, as to make sure that if they were to go missing, it would go unnoticed. Both were WWII veterans, the husband a Red Army general, and the wife a Swedish nurse. They met in Helsinki, where he was injured, two days before the 25th of April, 1945, the day the Germans retreaded into Norway.

Draco had looked through their humble photo album, which only contained a handful of pictures, mostly of their families. The last photo was of them two, and one that Draco cut out and put into the pocket. Back at Hogwarts in one of his trousers two tanned and freckled nineteen year olds were laughing at the camera on their wedding day.

He didn't want Levia to have it. She had taken everything else from them.

“So they want Harry in exchange is that right?” Mr. Weasley, sighed, taking a seat. “One last hurrah. One last salute to their master.”

You're probably not gonna want to hear it,” Draco tried to say as levelly as possible. “But I have a plan.”

But before he could tell them anything—the farm door burst open. Ginny was wild at the bottom of the barn, her hair drenched from the rain that pounded down. “Harry—Ron,” she choked, “They're gone.”

There was a commotion inside the house, which Draco tried to avoid by neatly folding himself into a narrowly angled corner, and biting the inside of his cheek from yelling out. What he wanted to yell was for everyone to calm down, to stop running like chickens with their orange heads chopped off, and to apparate their asses to Lake Malaren. Because the more time Mr. Weasley spent on trying to get everyone's attention by yelling “Darling! Darling! Kids! Kids” and the more time Mrs. Weasley spent on rifling through drawers and calling out and saying things like “tell me everything you know about Levia Greind. Yes, Greind, G-R-E-I-N-D,” the more distance Harry and his idiotic sidekick were covering. 

In midst all of the chaos, Ginny Weasley had somehow appeared next to him, and tugged at his sleeve. Draco tilted his head down to her freckled face.

“Grab my hand,” Ginny hissed, sounding much like her demanding mother.

“What?” Draco began to ask—but Ginny did not have time for questions, and grabbed his hand—tightly--herself. The reasoning behind this became very clear as Draco felt himself being pulled—not across the room, but somewhere much further, as Ginny forcefully and painfully apparated them to a destination he did not know. It happened fast, and then he was on his knees, on the dirt, dry heaving. He had apparated before, but never so violently and without warning, and the feeling of being knocked off his feet like that was like no hell he had ever experienced.

“That's right you little shat,” He heard the unmistakable voice of Ron Weasley growl, and felt a kick at his side. At this, Draco doubled over onto his back, and clutched at the foot of his former classmate before another kick was administrated and twisted it violently, causing Weasley himself to topple onto the ground next to him. 

So quickly that the dust had not even settled around them, Draco lunged at Ron, going straight for the wand hand, and whether it was the adreneline or pure luck—he did not know, he grabbed it and whipped it out of his hand, hollering “ACIAO!”

Two wands shot toward him, and he caught it just as Weasley swung at him like a madman, his face completely animalistic, all teeth and narrowed eyes. Draco, a little more stithe and controlled, dodged the leaping boy holding the three wands tight to his chest. Thankfully, the rest were in shock—not having register fast enough the turn of events and were not yet scrambling at Draco from all directions for their wands. Draco, shocked himself at the turn of events, pointed one of the wands—Harry's he unconsciously realized, at Ron.

Ron immediately froze.

“You--”

“Don't start that,” Draco said and did not recognize his own voice. It was so drained. The adrenaline was very quickly weaning off, and Draco did not want to waste any more of his strength on name calling screaming matches.

Apparently, his tone was just the thing to make Ron shut his mouth.

 

“I'll give the wands back. I won't even use them now, but I need you not to use them.”

He looked at their faces, hoping to come across some understanding. Ron was nearly shaking with fury, his face red as a beet. Ginny looked suspicious, her face a scrunched, painful and full of distrust. A battle in an expression. Harry, however, showed nothing. His face was a blank canvas, an art performance of nothingness. He had long ago become the master of feign calm. 

A natural leader, Harry was the one who addressed Draco. “How about you give our wands back now, Malfoy. I think that's a better solution.”

Draco shook his head, and scooted back against a tree trunk. Exhausted, he had barely slept in the past four days. And again his growling stomach turned in on itself inside him, sharp. He ignored it all. “What was your plan, then? Just storm in and save her?”

Harry regarded him carefully. “That's why Ginny brought you here. You will take us, of course. Now I don't understand why we have to waste so much time right now, personally.”

“Let's go then,” said Draco.

“Wands,” said Harry. His stare was hard. Draco saw he wasn't going to make much progress until he did what they asked.

Draco stood up with shaky limbs. One by one, he handed the wands back to their respectful owners. When he finally got to Ron, as soon as the freckled boys hand wrapped around the wand and pulled, Draco was knocked backwards by a powerful punch to the groin that frankly, he saw coming.

Draco recoiled, clutched his stomach and took a minute (or yes, perhaps three) to get his breath back. He wanted to punch back, of course, but all he did was turn away. “Are we ready now, then?”

“Yes,” seethed Ron, none of his anger diminished as Draco hoped it would be by transferring it through the physical assault. “We're ready now.”

 

 

*  
*  
*

 

yayayayay new chapter! I know its been too long, and I am very sorry. Writing is just not the main priority in my life (well this fanfic if I'm being honest.) It goes a little something like this. family>friends>school>work>my own writing>reading>this fanfic. And that sucks, but as you probably know in life there's a lot of things.....to do....to be done. I truly wish I could write all day but realistically I have to find small snippets in my week. For example, I have been working on this chapter since I posted the last one, trying to tweak it into something I'm truly proud of posting. Then, I realized if I did that i would be tweaking forever. So here it is, just as it is. And I hope its good, and not terribly messy. Anyways, you're bored, I'm sure, or probably haven't even read this far into my long winded excuse. Fact of the matter is, life happens. Ya know? This story is almost over btw, very close to being done. And I hope you are here for the conclusion!

Thank you for reading!! It truly means so much!!

xx


	16. Can I beta on you?

***THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER***  
& I'm sorry for that.  
So, the thing is, I am severely lacking direction with this fic...hence, me not posting. It's nearly done, yes, and I have a few chapters written out already....but I need to get past some things. And for that I need a BETA. So. This is a pathetic little try at perhaps getting someone interested in reading my work before I post it? I am also working on another dramione story which I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT, I haven't ever seen this particular plot done before (it might have been but i haven't seen it,) and also I am already 20000 words in and I have it actually planned out (unlike this one whoops) and would LOVE LOVE LOVE to talk to someone about it.  
I would also be willing to beta in return.  
Anyways; just someone to talk about my writing with would be so helpful.   
So, if you are interested: leave me a comment or message me on here? i don't actually know how messaging here works....  
My preferred method would however be my TUMBLR: which is  
thelittlesecretgoldfinch.tumblr.com  
sorry about the long name.  
but yes.  
thank you and i'm sorry.

zannielux  
(also I am sorry for the super awful title pun for this chapter...i couldn't resist bye)


End file.
